


The Devil and The Lamb

by Lemonandpie



Series: Taking Care of You [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biologically Necessary Submission, Caning, Catholic Guilt, Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, F/M, Fictional Health Issues, Ignored Safeword, M/M, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Mummification, Non-Sexual Submission, Orgy, Pegging, Pining, Rape Aftermath, Safeword Use, Sensory Deprivation, Stick is a dick, Stimulation Play, hole spanking, sub matt murdock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24432979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonandpie/pseuds/Lemonandpie
Summary: Matt Murdock is declared a Sub young, but he knows better than to accept it. If anyone wants him to submit to them, they're going to have to beat it out of him, no matter how much he wants it.Unless their name happens to be Foggy Nelson.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Elektra Natchios, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Taking Care of You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732525
Comments: 67
Kudos: 265





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Bo Burnham voice* Y'all motherfuckers ready for a pov change?!
> 
> If you're new to this series, please not that this fic is not intended to be read without having read 'Taking Care of You' as well. There are some things that are skipped over in this fic that are explained in detail in that one.
> 
> Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-sexual submission and standard Stick-related warnings (aka child abuse, borderline torture, and just general reckless endangerment in the guise of 'training').

Matt’s body was screaming in agony. He had never hurt this bad before, not after the accident, not after a training session with Stick, not even after a brutal Scene in the dungeons. Every time he moved he found a new place to ache, but nothing hurt more than where Nobu’s knife had dug into his belly. He didn’t know where the hurt ended and he began. It would be blissful if it wasn’t… 

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” 

He didn’t know anyone else was there. The pain had pushed his senses so internal that he hadn’t even realized someone was in the room. Moving around, he thought. He couldn’t tell. Matt wanted to cry in relief, in pain, in release. He could, right? His Dom was here. Foggy was here, and would make everything better. Or not. He and Foggy hadn’t been on the best terms as of late, even without. Without.

“You stitch me up?” Matt asked, feeling the small fibers buried in his skin. He didn’t know Foggy could do that, but it made sense. Just one more way to take care of people. 

“No, your nurse friend. Who knows a lot more about this situation than I do, by the way, even though I’m your fucking boyfriend.”

Angry, Foggy was angry. Matt couldn’t smell anger, or hear Foggy’s heart, but those words were angry. Matt wanted to get on his knees, even moved a leg in an attempt to do it, but he was paralyzed. Paralyzed by pain, and by fear.

“You called Claire?” Matt asked.

“Yeah, after you took a swing at me for trying to call an ambulance.” Bile rose in Matt’s throat. He tried to hurt Foggy? “And she was very reluctant to shed some light on the situation.”

Foggy was-- Foggy was in the chair, facing Matt. He smelled sour. Worry, primarily, mixed with anger, sadness, sweat. He hadn’t slept. Was still in his clothes from the night before. Had been drinking for most of it. Everything smelled wrong, like his favorite food had gone off. Foggy was suffering. Matt had hurt Foggy.

“You are going to tell me everything, Murdock.” An order. Foggy never used biology against him, but he was now. No getting out of it, no matter what tricks Matt pulled. Just the heavy weight, the _comforting_ weight, of being told what to do. “And don’t you leave a single thing out.”

\---

Everyone always assumed Matt had a miserable childhood. Poor, one parent with a violent job, getting kicked out of apartments every year or in a rough patch every few months. No mother. But Matt was a happy kid. He couldn’t even comprehend what a mother was, because even the kids at school who had a mom were in the same boat as him and his dad. He didn’t know a mother to miss her, but he couldn’t understand life without his dad, so he was happy. He would just feel unsteady sometimes.

Insecure is what he would call it, when he was old enough to know what that word meant. It would just be this feeling that would wash over him sometimes, coming out of nowhere and going just as quickly. 

It had started when he was five and he saw his dad lose for the first time. Sitting in his living room, watching the television while Mrs Rubio grumbled about how poorly stocked the kitchen was while she tried to make dinner, he felt his world fall into a sudden spiral as he watched some stranger beat his dad bloody. At the end of the match, the other boxer stood over his dad’s body with his hands in the air, the crowd cheering for his victory. Matt felt a rush of fear, not just that his dad might be hurt but that suddenly Matt himself was unsafe. His dad wasn’t invincible, and that meant anyone would be able to hurt them.

That night, Matt refused to go to bed, and even threw a tantrum when Mrs Rubio tried. He would not move from the table they ate at until his dad was home. There were monsters waiting for them both, and Matt wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was sure that his dad was home and safe for the night. His dad came home with a cut still oozing from his face, and Matt had pressed a band aid on it and kissed it better so that he felt useful. 

When he was a little older, he learned how to do stitches so he could be _actually_ useful. His dad still asked him to kiss it better anyway. 

From that day on, there was a feeling that the world was about to be pulled out from under him. Whenever he mentioned it, his dad would gather him up and carry Matt around the apartment like he was a baby. Soothed him until he fell asleep, or the world felt fuzzy as if he were falling asleep. 

“Aw, isn’t that sweet,” Rocco had said one night, when the fear came back and Matt was certain terrible things were about to happen so he climbed out of bed even though his dad had friends over and sat down in his dad’s lap to sleep. “Enjoy this, Jacky. He’ll present before you know it, and then you’re going to have to deal with having a little baby Dom butting heads with you every damn day.”

“You just haven’t learned how to control your kid,” Bruce said. “My Billie hasn’t fought with me once, because she still knows who the Dom of the family is.”

“I don’t think Matt and I are going to have many problems,” his dad said, rocking Matt gently. “No matter what he presents as.”

Everyone had been certain Matt would grow up to be a Dom. Even before he had the chance to glance at puberty, he had already been declared the neighborhood’s resident little shit, who would fight you on every order unless you had a good reason for it. No one had even asked what his presentation would be, because he was Matt Murdock and everyone knew he was as Dom as you could get. 

His dad didn’t seem so sure. He would always use a firm tone with Matt and was heavy with physical contact. One time he even gave Matt a heavy blanket that kept him in that warm place where everything was safe, and although his dad had cut off the label Matt had found it in the trashcan when he was cleaning. He had thought nothing of it at the time, but he knew he had seen the smiling S that was put on everything that was supposed to be ‘Sub approved’.

Matt didn’t know for sure that his dad had guessed he was a Sub, but on nights when Matt was kinder to himself he allowed himself to think that his dad had known and had been the only person to still love Matt regardless. The love of one dead person against the disdain of everyone living wasn’t much, but sometimes Matt needed something.

(On days when he was less kind to himself, Matt laughed that his dad had hated him so much, found him so weak, that he would rather die than waste his life trying to keep Matt from falling apart).

Everything changed after his accident. Matt didn’t understand the world around him anymore. It was all too loud, too smelly, too irritating, too strong. His dad would rock him more often, sometimes would even sleep with him, just to keep Matt in that fuzzy place where the world was above water and he was under it. And then his dad wasn’t there anymore. And Matt was drowning.

Matt knew the nuns thought he was a freak. Most of the Sisters thought he was insane. Some thought he was possessed. Sister Maria thought he was dying. Sister Maggie would sit with him, and sometimes he thought he could get her muttering apologies under her breath. Sometimes he thought she almost smelled like his dad. She would hold her hand on his forehead while he twisted in his bonds, something that began as a way to keep him from hurting himself and turned into a way to calm him, and let him smell the dried sweat on her wrist. 

He hadn’t eaten in four days when they brought in Stick.

\---

“Again, Matty!”

His muscles burned, but it felt so good. He felt more than when he trained. More than a body, more than a blind orphan, more than Matt Murdock. It was glorious. He tried to swipe Stick’s leg out from under him, because Matt was still small and could use his size to his advantage. Stick blocked it, but was so occupied blocking it that he missed the kick Matt delivered to the back of his knee. Stick’s leg buckled forward before bouncing back, and he chuckled.

Stick would beat Matt down, and Matt would fight back. Over and over again. Adrenaline thrummed through his body like an electric charge. Each time Stick turned Matt flat onto his back, his cane at Matt’s throat, there was another surge of energy through Matt’s body. 

“That was good,” Stick said, his foot planted on Matt’s heaving chest. Matt didn’t know what he had done to deserve Stick’s praise, especially when Stick was so spare in giving it, but it felt as if Stick’s pride was a literal balm of Matt’s aching body. Proof that it was worth it. “Let’s get you back to those nuns.”

Stick lifted his foot and began to pack their things, few as they were. Matt slowly pushed himself up, feeling the stretch of each muscle. When he was sitting, Matt tried to get to his feet, but instead his body made his left leg bend beneath him. Then his right. Yes, he thought, this felt right.

“Oh, fuck, kid.” Stick’s heart was pounding. Matt had never heard his heart sound anything less than perfectly steady, never fluctuating in speed or volume. Something must have put him on edge. Matt couldn’t think what it could be-- he felt so safe on his knees.

“Get up,” Stick growled. Matt didn’t move. He bowed his head further so Stick could see more of his neck. There was a sharp swipe through the air. Stick’s cane was pressed against Matt’s throat, tipping his head back. This time, there was something different in Stick’s voice. Something harsher. Desperate? “Get up, Matty.”

Matt didn’t move.

“Get up!” Matt’s body snapped up. Stick’s voice was deep, authoritative, like it was reaching inside of Matt and pulling. Matt couldn’t have resisted even if his body had given him time to think it over before acting.

He stood on his shaking legs. Stick’s heart was still pounding. Something was wrong. Matt didn’t understand what was wrong. There was a pit growing in his stomach, a pit with an echo inside it. _Wrong_. _You did something wrong. Failure. Disappointment. You need to be punished_.

“We’re doing a detour in your training,” Stick said. His voice wasn’t flat, or even filled with the sarcasm Matt had grown to love. Matt had never heard Stick afraid before.

\---

“Stand up.” Stick stood on the other side of the room. He said every word with that tone that Matt’s body couldn’t resist, so Stick had chained Matt to the floor. Matt strained against the chains, desperate to obey. But he couldn't. 

“I can’t!” Matt cried. “I’m sorry!”

“Stand up,” Stick repeated. Matt twisted in the chains. There had to be a way to get out-- Stick wouldn’t order him to do something he couldn’t do. There was a puzzle he had to figure out. He would make Stick happy. 

“Stand up,” Stick said. Matt screamed. He had dislocated his shoulder trying to get out of the chains, but he still couldn’t. He had to stand up. He had to. 

“Stand up, Matty.” Stick just kept repeating the order, in that same tone, while Matt writhed and shrieked on the floor in front of him. Even when he knew Matt couldn’t escape the chains. Matt thrashed, banging his dislocated shoulder against the concrete below him. 

“Stand up,” Stick said, one last time, and Matt broke. He slumped in the chains, his body starting to tremble but growing to shake. The chains rattled with each tremor. 

Stick didn’t speak the order again. Instead, he walked over to Matt’s chained body and reached down, holding Matt’s head steady through the convulsions. Something strange was dripping from the corners of Matt’s lips. He could recognise the tears dripping from his eyes. Stick held him down until the shaking stopped, and then unchained Matt. He sat Matt down in the corner of the room, denying Matt a blanket no matter how cold Matt was, albeit with a stutter in his heart beat. He held a cup to Matt’s lips and let Matt drain the water out of the glass twice. 

The next day they did it all again.

And then Stick took away the chains, making Matt resist through willpower alone. If Matt ever broke, Stick would beat him into unconsciousness. Within a month, Matt could hear that tone in Stick’s voice and brush it off as if it was a particularly annoying fly. 

(Like it was just another twinge of a giant, gaping wound).

\---

“There is no place for submission in warriors,” Stick said. 

Matt had tried to curl in on himself after managing to resist a barrage of orders, and Stick had chained him spread against a wall. Stick paced in front of him, and Matt could hear the indecision in his body when his sinuses weren’t blocked by his sobs. These exercises were the only time Stick let Matt cry. 

“A Dom with the right orders can send you to your knees in the middle of a fight. Or you can be walking down the street and someone drops you and sells you on the black market. You can’t be a Sub and a soldier, Matty. You can’t be a Sub and a survivor, either.”

\---

Matt didn’t cry even though Stick had left. Part of him desperately wondered if Stick hadn’t gone, that maybe this was another test and Stick would come back in a week or so and be proud of Matt for not falling apart. And Matt refused to fall apart. He just couldn’t get out of bed.

“Matt?” Sister Terese let herself in, because she had already knocked twice and it was well past when Matt should have gotten up anyway. He wouldn’t have time for breakfast, but if he huried he would be able to get to school before the first bell.

Sister Terese walked to his bed. She made a soft sound and reached out to touch his forehead. He moaned in pain. She recoiled before pulling his bed covers off his chest. She pressed her fingers at various points around his throat, each one making him whimper in different ways. Sister Terese pulled back and crossed herself before running out of the room. He heard her screaming for the other sisters.

Matt felt like the water he sometimes dipped his head under had turned to tar. His body was hot but he felt so cold, like something that had been cooked but not defrosted so even though it looked ready it was still frozen on the inside. He wished Sister Terese had pulled his bed covers back up. He hadn’t the strength to do it himself.

Sister Terese ran back in, with Sisters Mary Constance and Maria close behind. Moments after that Father O'Flanagan came in as well. Sister Terese clambered onto Matt’s bed, pulling him into her lap and holding him tightly to her. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he felt her tears dripping onto him.

“Call an ambulance,” Sister Mary Constance ordered. “Now!”

Matt tried to protest, the hospital of his memory looming over him and making him quake in fear. Sister Maria ran from the room, and he heard her tell one of the older kids to get everyone to school. They had never given so much responsibility to one of the children, even if it was one who had nearly aged out. Something must be wrong, Matt thought. He wondered if one of the nuns was sick.

“Matthew,” Father O’Flanagan said. 

Matt moaned. He didn’t want anyone to talk to him.

“Matthew, I’m going to touch you now,” Father O’Flanagan said. His heart was pounding. So was everyone else’s. They hadn’t reacted like this even in Matt’s worst fits. 

Father O’Flanagan reached out and pressed down firmly on Matt’s neck. Matt’s instincts immediately went to war, battling over whether he should relax at the touch or fight his obvious enemy. He struck out, even though Sister Terese kept shushing him and saying everything was alright. Couldn’t she see Father O’Flanagan was trying to kill him?

There was a grunt, followed by the Sisters’ gasps and a scent of copper in the air. Matt smirked, or at least would if his body didn’t suddenly feel immobile again. Sister Terese was weeping openly above him. Matt was beginning to feel frightened.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Sister Maria said as she came into the room. She panted heavily, resting her hands on her knees. 

“What’s wrong?” Sister Maggie asked in a cracking voice. Sister Mary Constance’s heart beat rapidly. “Why did you call an ambulance? Tell me what’s wrong!”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sister Mary Constance said sternly, like Sister Maggie was a disobedient child. “We can’t have you getting in the way.”

“Tell me what’s wrong with him!” Sister Maggie screamed. Sister Mary Constance turned to Father O’Flanagan. They must have exchanged looks. Sister Mary Constance then grabbed Sister Maggie’s wrists and all but dragged her out, even though Sister Maggie was screaming and fighting to get back into the room. They were quickly outside of Matt’s hearing range, which meant either Sister Mary Constance could secretly walk very fast or Matt’s senses weren’t as strong as they normally were.

Matt whined in confusion. Nothing about this made any sense. In fact, Stick leaving quickly became the only thing that did make sense and therefore a type of anchor, even if it did cause him pain to think of it. Once he started to whine, though, he couldn’t stop himself from doing it more.

“It’s okay, little one,” Sister Terese said. She began to rock him. “They will take you to the hospital, and the pain will stop soon.”

There was pain, now that she mentioned it. A deep and searing pain, worse even than when Stick tied him down and made him disobey orders. Like someone had reached into Matt’s guts and began to pull them out piece by piece. But there was also the pain in his skin, and his head, and his chest. He ached everywhere.

The paramedics came, and everyone spoke too fast and in words that he didn’t understand. Sister Terese kept a firm grip on his hand, and Father O’Flanagan took hold of his other one while they transferred Matt onto a stretcher and carried him into the ambulance.

“I don’t wanna,” Matt whined like he was nine and chemicals were eating his eyes away. “Please don’t make me.”

“They will make it better,” Sister Terese said, but she was lying to him. Why was she lying to him? It made him cry more.

“Matt?” One of the paramedics put a gloved hand on the left side of Matt’s face. “Matt, you’re going to feel a sharp prick, alright? It’s going to make all the pain go away.”

Matt knew what needles were, and what was in them. He knew sedatives made him unable to control his senses. He thrashed, so they held him down, and that felt good in a way that he couldn’t understand. They managed to get the needle in. Matt sobbed as the sedative took hold and made the world fade away.

\---

He woke up feeling like he had had his organs ripped out and replaced with teddy bear stuffing. He was wearing ear plugs, and nose plugs. Not enough to keep everything at bay, but at least enough to help. The kindness made him want to cry. The thought of everyone knowing how weak he was also made him want to cry. It was a crying day, apparently.

“Good morning,” Sister Terese whispered from beside his bed. He turned his face towards her. “How are you feeling?”

Matt groaned, which made her laugh. She reached out and took his hand.

“A Doctor is going to come in and explain to you what happened. You might find it a bit embarrassing, so I can leave if you want? It’s not anything to be ashamed of, but I remember when I found out that I was… my Dynamic. I kicked my Mama out of there so fast! Well, I tried to.”

Matt didn’t answer, but he gripped her hand tighter. She hummed, and raised her other hand to cover their conjoined ones.

Doctor Bruski was young, and made sure to tell Matt everything he was doing. Most health professionals would forget that Matt couldn’t see them, and would just do things to his body without warning him first. Most of his experience around them was with drugs in his system, so it was good for someone to narrate when he couldn’t rely on his senses.

“Matthew, you experienced a Drop this morning. Do you know what that is?” Doctor Bruski had finished checking Matt over and was now standing at the end of Matt’s bed.

“It’s something that makes people upset,” Matt said. Sister Terese tightened her grip on his hand.

“That is correct, Matthew, well done.” 

Matt felt a surge of warmth in his chest.

“Scientifically, it is the result of an imbalance in the brain. Each Dynamic produces a different chemical-- Submissives produce Survitonin, Dominants produce Domnicodin.”

“Those are stupid names,” Matt muttered. It made Doctor Bruski laugh.

“True. These chemicals cause a person to go into what we call ‘Domspace’ or ‘Subspace’. If someone produces too much, it can cause them to become inebriated as if they were drunk on alcohol. If they don’t produce enough, then it can cause a ‘Domdrop’ or ‘Subdrop’. If a Drop is severe enough, it can cause a medical emergency known as DIS, or Drop Induced Shock. That is what was happening to you this morning.”

Sister Terese smelled like she was going to start crying again. She gripped Matt’s hand tightly enough that Matt could hear the grinding bones.

“Because you are so young,” Doctor Bruski continued, “We had to treat the Drop with a direct injection of Survitonin. This forces your body to come out of Drop, but can be very dangerous so we will have to monitor you for a few days.”

Matt groaned, his head falling onto his pillow. He really didn’t want to be in the hospital for multiple days.

“We will also discuss a therapeutic regime for you to follow. We will be prescribing you a low dose of artificial Survitonin for you to take until your brain is able to regulate itself again.” Doctor Bruski paused and tapped his clipboard with his finger. “Sister, would it be alright if I spoke to Matthew alone for a minute?”

Sister Terese opened her mouth to speak, but Matt cut her off.

“I’ll be alright, Sister, I promise,” Matt said, flashing her his most innocent smile that he could. She sighed, patted his hand, and left the room.

Doctor Bruski shut the door behind her and sat in her chair, leaning closely to Matt.

“Matthew, you have a lot of factors that may have contributed to this. However, the biggest cause for a Subdrop in an adolescent is mistreatment.” Doctor Bruski gritted his teeth. “Has anyone hurt you? An adult, or maybe even someone you like? A girlfriend or boyfriend, perhaps?”

Matt thought of Stick crushing the bracelet.

“No,” Matt replied. “No one’s hurt me.” 

Matt didn’t know if he was a good liar or not, but Doctor Bruski took him at his word. Matt was released after two days, with a black, shiny ‘s’ on his hospital records. It was as clear as day-- Matt Murdock was a Submissive. Warriors couldn’t be Submissives. Survivors couldn’t be Submissives. 

He would do everything to prove that little ‘s’ wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, I might be out of commission for a couple of days. This shouldn't affect the posting schedule (this fic is already written, it just needs editing and formatting) but it might cause some delay in my replying to comments. So if I don't get back to you immediately, don't worry! I love all of your comments.
> 
> Also, if there's any questions you have about the world building or anything else I've included, feel free to ask. If any of the tags worry you, I'm going to be tagging each chapter specifically so if you needed to skip anything and want a plot summary of what you missed I'll make sure to provide that as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not fully online again yet but this chapter was already edited.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Very mild and brief gore, minors discussing sex, and underage drinking if that bothers you. And a lot of world building. A lot.

Matt’s life after Stick was spent waist-deep in sludge. Some days he would go deeper, and some days he would rise above it, but it was always there. He couldn’t understand it, but he knew that it was a part of him now. He could remember a time when the water was clear, but that was a time when he was just a helpless victim. A Submissive. 

His life changed after that ‘s’ was stamped on him. People would be even more careful around him, even more certain that he was going to break at every misuse. But they would also touch him all the time, as if their unwanted affection was going to keep him from breaking apart. It was disgusting. 

Sister Maggie avoided him entirely, and that was better. Most of the nuns became smothering, but she would stay as far away from him as she could and even leave the hall if he entered it. Stick had left him too. It was the correct reaction.

\---

Sister Mary Constance was old. Hell, even old was generous. Stick was old. Sister Mary Constance was ancient. She still wore a full habit and swore that she would until her dying day, even though all the other nuns had gleefully moved into less restrictive garments. In his more sarcastic moments, Matt would hear the rattle coming from her chest and swear it was the cobwebs covering her organs moving.

She was nice though. She would be stern, but dote on her children when they were acting up for a reason rather than for the sake of it. Even her more traditional beliefs, including her fondness for the cane, would be doled out in private and only to Submissive students who needed the correction, preferring to give students who did not find the cane reassuring punishments that were changed severity depending on the crime. She was probably a remarkable Domme in her day. Matt guessed she chose the Church out of devotion and love, rather than being forced into it like some of the more bitter Sisters.

It didn’t make her any more desirable for teaching Sexual and Dynamic Education. No one wanted to hear a seventy-nine year old woman with a thick Brooklyn accent talking about penises and vaginas. Or explaining the ‘urges’ each student would be experiencing to submit to or dominate their classmates.

“Know that every day you are submitting to Our Lord,” Sister Mary Constance said, hovering beside Jason Murray’s desk. He relinquished the scrap of paper he was doodling on (based on the snickers he had failed to stifle, Matt guessed they were rather lewd in nature). “You are born in the Lord’s arms and know that he is your one true Master.”

“You may believe that your dynamic requires sinful indulgence of the flesh-- I heard that, Mr Burr-- but it is only submitting to Him that grants your spirit true peace.”

“If Submission is only spiritual, then why does DIS exist?” Ana Maria Cortez asked from Matt’s right. She had developed a passionate interest (obsession, more like) with Dynamic politics, which had ended with almost every class that touched on the subject turning into a fierce debate. 

Matt ground the edge of his fingernail into the wood of his desk, feeling for splinters. 

“The flesh can fail if the soul is not at peace,” Sister Mary Constance said. 

“But DIS is directly linked to _the body_. Studies have already proven the existence of glands in a Submissive’s neck that release Survitonin when touched, and that regular production of Domnicodin reduces substance abuse by more than half, let alone the significant decrease in fatal DIS cases or suicides in Submissive men in societies that do not have this ludicrous prohibition of anal!” There were some snickers from the back of the class. Most of the students were bored. Some were embarrassed. Molly Finlay’s heart was pumping. “How can you possibly justify abstinence?”

Sister Mary Constance sighed. “We have discussed this, Miss Cortez. The biological elements of dominance and submission are to be only consumated once the two parties have declared their bond to Him and His representative’s on earth--”

“So we should all get married immediately, clearly. I mean, it’s not like DIS and DSS have been found in people as young as _seven_. Stupid kids, if only they had gotten married like they were supposed to. I mean, we could also teach everyone that masturbation can help regulate Dynamic imbalances, or that stimulation of the prostate gland is one of the most guaranteed ways of releasing Survitonin, or that teaching Doms that their dominant impulses are against scripture has been traced to several cases of abuse. The Pope still can’t decide if God hates artificial Survitonin and Domnicodin replacements--”

“Miss Cortez, now is not the time!” Sister Mary Constance’s voice cracked. Her heart was pounding and Matt could smell… sadness. She took a deep breath. “I teach in the way I have been instructed by Father Greer, in accordance with the Pope’s wishes.”

Ana Maria growled in frustration. She spun around. “Matt, don’t you want to get in on this?”

Matt could feel the eyes of the class focus on him. He forsook his past self for developing a reputation as argumentative.

“No,” Matt said firmly. “I want no part in this.”

Sister Mary Constance sighed in relief. Ana Maria slumped in her chair and remained quiet for the rest of the class. Sister Mary Constance continued her lecture on Submission in Faith, though she stumbled over her words in ways that Matt had never heard her do before. When the bell for lunch rang, she released them immediately and sat down at her desk with clasped hands.

“Oi, Murdock!” Ana Maria yelled as he was walking down the hall. He turned around. “What the hell was that?”

“Me staying out of it,” Matt replied. 

“You get on their case about _everything_ ,” Ana Maria spat. Her voice had a small whine to it. She was frustrated for some reason. “But this is important, especially to you--”

“You thought I would help you because I’m a Sub?” Matt asked. He could feel the twitch in his lip and nose. “That I’d give a single shit about what you said in there because, what? I’m a simpering helpless thing that only knows what the Doms tell me?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said. She folded her arms. “You make such a big deal about standing up for the little guy--”

“Don’t waste your time,” Matt snapped. He turned around and walked briskly away from her, even though it meant accidentally hitting a couple of people with his cane.

“Dick,” Ana Maria muttered, before getting distracted.

“Hey!” Molly said. She smelled hot, like she was flushed. “I just wanted to say how amazing…”

Matt focused his attention on the sounds of a crowded school and everyone talking about other inane things. There was a knot in his stomach. It stayed through lunch, and through fourth and fifth period, and then through dinner as well. It even stayed when Matt snuck into the orphanage basement to train and beat Ana Maria’s words out of his head.

\---

Nights at the orphanage were always rough. Most nights Matt had difficulty sleeping. Usually it was because of the sirens. St Agnes’ wasn’t in one of the truly rough neighborhoods, but those were only a street or two away. And there was the bar at the other end of the street, whose patrons would usually end up walking past as they stumbled, fucked, or vomitted on the footpath. 

The other kids would keep him up too. There was little Jimmy Brown, whose Dad had murdered his Mom and now spent his nights sobbing into a pillow. Or Nina Curtis and Bobby Roarke, who snuck weed into the bathrooms and planned to run away even if they never did. Jackie White would sometimes jump out the window to go see her boyfriend, and Matt would wait up until he knew she had come home.

Sometimes even the nuns kept him awake. Sister Terese was the most thorough in her rounds, so Matt would be able to hear the pin in her knee as she walked up and down the halls. Sister Maria usually fell asleep, and would whistle ever so softly when she snored. Sister Maggie was an insomniac some nights, but other nights would doze off easily before waking up in a panic. 

If Matt did manage to get to sleep, he would be plagued by nightmares. In some he would have pieces of images that would fade in and out like a burning photograph. He wished they were of his father, but usually it was something as simple as a leaf or a brick building. Brief memories of sight that were already fading and probably wouldn’t last him until adulthood. Those dreams made him sad, but in the way you were sad for something that happened long ago and couldn’t be changed. A healed wound that ached in the cold.

Some dreams were more feverish. Voices of people he heard on the street, bad people or people crying for help but no one coming. He would try to get to them, but something would be holding him back. Or it was the sound of a gunshot, multiple gunshots, people screaming in every direction and Matt not being able to get to them all in time. Somehow they were all his father.

That night was one when the monsters came. The monsters were inconsistent too-- one night it would be an army of terrifying beasts, another a single ordinary man. That night they were morphing between; one man with an army of demons inside of him. He had no heartbeat, or scent, or heat. A silhouette of void against Matt’s senses. Matt, as always, was frozen in front of it.

“ _Kneel_ ,” the man said with many voices. Matt felt the pull in his gut, and his knees threatened to buckle.

“You have to fight, Matty!” Stick was standing beside him. Stick’s-- his limbs were gone. He was just a torso and a head. 

“I can’t!” Matt cried. The man was growing bigger, and the whole world was growing cold. “You left before you finished teaching me!”

“Shut up and do it, Matty!” Stick ordered. “Take my sword and plunge it into that thing’s heart!”

The man chuckled. It made Matt’s stomach curdle, but he couldn’t focus on that now. He reached down and grabbed Stick’s sword, prying it from the grip of Stick’s disembodied arms. It felt right in his hands. Matt screamed, charging at the man with Stick’s sword at the ready.

“ _Kneel_ ,” the man commanded, and Matt fell to his knees.

He awoke gasping. His skin felt hot and like it had been tightly drawn over his body. Each scent of touch and taste was in overdrive, making his body feel as if it was being burned alive. There was a throbbing in his gut. 

Matt ran to the showers, barely having the presence of mind to check that no one was around. He turned the shower on with as much strength as it would go and climbed in, his clothes quickly soaking through to his skin. There was something wrong… _there_. He sobbed with the intensity of it.

Each pin prick of the water on him felt like a battering ram trying to pound into him. He curled up tightly under the spray, wanting to escape it but knowing he needed it in order to be cleansed. In his mind the order was still clear and Matt had knelt. Even if it was only in a dream, he had faced his enemy and he had knelt. 

He had knelt for the Devil.

Matt sat there until the orphanage began to come to life. It was only the fear of being found that way that gave Matt the strength to move. He returned to his room and dried off with the roughest towel he could find, sure afterwards that his skin was bleeding. He pulled on his baggiest clothes and hid his shivering body.

Sister Maggie watched him carefully at dinner. He could feel her focus on him, but if he ever turned towards her she would distract herself. She could sense the sin within him, as surely as he could sense her standing there. He knew she could. Matt could feel the disgust she had for him, the sour emotions she would smell of every time they were in the same room. He knew why she was disgusted by him-- he was disgusted by himself. 

Still, his heart begged for her to help him.

\---

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” Matt’s voice cracked. He wet his lips. “An hour since my last confession.”

He could hear the priest huff in amusement. It was Father Lantom; Matt could tell from the smell of coffee on his robes. Father Lantom was a good priest, but Matt sometimes would get the impression that the priest was indulging him. Priests seemed to do that a lot. 

“I’m not sure what my sin is,” Matt admitted. “But I know I have sinned. I feel two creatures within me. A beast and a lamb, and the beast has the lamb between its teeth. The lamb is already impaled, and bleeding. Every time it moves the teeth just dig in more, but it won’t stop moving. Won’t stop trying to escape.”

“Do you feel,” Father Lantom said, in his low and calm voice. “As if the beast needs to be tamed?”

“No!” Matt gripped his cane tightly. “The beast is following its nature. It's keeping its home safe. The lamb is the wrong one! It came where it wasn’t welcome and fed on land that wasn’t for it. It needs to die!”

Father Lantom sucked in a deep breath. He was nervous. “And what do you think these two creatures represent?”

“Innocence. Naivety. Fear.” _Submission_. “Take your pick.”

“And the beast? What is the beast inside of you?”

Matt raised his hand to press his palm to the middle of his chest. The problem with metaphors was that the moment you tried to explain them, they lost their multitude of meaning. Metaphors were powerful because they held not just one meaning but many. They were learning about metaphors in his English class.

But Matt knew what the beast was. He felt inside of him every day, calling for blood, for that glorious ache in his muscles. Thrashing around in its chains because Matt never let it out anymore. All because it was too afraid of that lamb between its teeth.

“The Devil,” Matt replied.

\---

Matt buried that beast deep within him. He had studied hard because his father had asked him to, not ordered. Had flown through high school and made valedictorian. Matt Murdock had been an absolute fucking angel, because if he was anything less he was going to let one of the creatures inside of him out and he knew that he would not survive that.

But it was graduation. And Izzy Byrne had invited him to her graduation party, without even hesitating. At some point in high school he had stopped being ‘the blind kid’. He still was in some circles, but for a lot of people he was ‘the nerd’, or ‘the quiet one’ or even ‘the super Catholic one’. But as puberty progressed he had gotten a new label-- ‘the hot one’. 

Matt had no standard to judge. He had some idea of what his face looked like from when he touched it while he washed, or shaved. He could tell that his body had grown from a bunch of gangly limbs to something with a bit of power in it. Matt had never known his dad without an array of scars and healed breaks on his face, and didn’t know if he was good looking. He knew women would look at his dad, but they would look at Matt too. It had taken until he had gotten his abilities for him to realise that the two looks were different.

But even if Matt had no idea what he looked like, everyone else seemed to like it. And so he wasn’t left as alone as people, especially adults, would assume. In fact, he seemed to be liked. He didn’t understand that, either, but it was fun to talk to people and make them flush, and being liked opened a lot of doors.

Like getting him an invitation to a graduation party with a _lot_ of underage drinking. Matt hadn’t drunk anything since the scotch his dad had given him, not properly, and the beer in his hand was cheap. But it smelled like his dad, just a little, so Matt drank a couple. And then a couple more.

“Murdock!” Ana Maria declared, sitting beside Matt with a grace that suggested she had already had more than a few beers. 

“Cortez!” Matt replied, holding his beer out for her to clink. 

“Hey, man, I just--” She hiccuped. “I just wanted to say that you’ve been a great competitor.”

“I didn’t realise we were competing,” Matt replied, even though he did. There could only be one valedictorian.

“Oh, shush,” she said, slamming her hand down on his shoulder. “Listen: if I had to lose to anybody, I’m glad I lost to you.”

“You would have had it, too,” Matt said. “That last History assignment was just a doozy.”

Matt could imagine her scowl, but he could sense the middle finger she was giving him. He laughed and wrapped his arm around her.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll kick everyone’s ass at Harvard. ‘Cause, you know, I won’t be there.” Matt couldn’t fully dodge the swat she delivered to his head without it being suspicious, and he wouldn’t have given it if he couldn’t take it.

“When I’m President, there’s no _way_ I’m appointing you to the Supreme Court.” 

Matt laughed, and he heard Ana Maria giggle as well.

“Well, when you’re President I’ll make sure to put on all of my business cards that I kicked your butt.” He lied back against the grass. “Academically, of course.”

“Oh, if we went there I would kick your puny ass,” Ana Maria said. “Got to impress my girl, you know.” 

“I have been informed by multiple sources that my ass is a national treasure.” Matt could hear someone shouting about a water balloon fight, and someone else shouting about no water being allowed near the grill. “It would be a shame to hurt it.”

Ana Maria snorted. They sat in comfortable silence, sipping their beers while the noise of the party played around them. It was kind of nice.

“Annie!” Molly bounded up to Ana Maria, who pulled her down for a kiss. Jordan Key was behind her. Molly sat down on the grass beside her before resting her head on Ana Maria’s shoulder.

“Baby girl, you are soaked!”

“Water fight,” Molly, Jordan, and Matt said at the same time. Ana Maria sighed and took off her jacket, wrapping it around her girlfriend.

“You’re going to get cold, and then what am I going to do with you?” She asked with a fake sigh.

“I can think of a few things to keep me warm,” Molly said, giggling. She snuggled her nose against Ana Maria’s cheek.

“You girls are so cute it makes me feel genuinely ill,” Jordan said. Matt laughed. Ana Maria pulled up some grass and threw it at Jordan.

“Shut up, J.” Ana Maria sighed, pulling her fingers through Molly’s hair. Molly was mewling. “If we stay at the party, are you going to behave?”

“Behaving is boring,” Molly giggled. Ana Maria tugged some strands of her hair, which made Molly squeal.

“Seems like baby girl needs to be taught a lesson,” Ana Maria growled. Molly giggled again. Ana Maria stood up and dragged Molly to her feet. “Right, well it was good to see you boys. Matt, because this is probably as drunk as you will ever see me: don’t be a stranger, okay? We orphans gotta stick together.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, his brain not used to her sincerity. She nodded, sighed, and then spun around to walk away with Molly clinging to her. 

“And tell Sister _Muy Aburrida_ that I’m missing curfew to help a friend get home safe!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a sin to lie to a nun!” Matt called out to her.

“Yeah, yeah, say it on Sunday.”

They were gone. Matt sighed. Another beer was pressed into his hand, this one still cold.

“So, Matt. How you doing?” Jordan was a nice guy. A Sub, and proud of it, and gay, and prouder of that. He and Matt weren’t friends, but if they ended up sitting beside each other they managed to hold a conversation alright.

“I’m getting through,” Matt said, taking a swig of beer and laughing. 

“You get into a college yet?” Jordan asked. He shifted closer to Matt. 

“Yeah, Columbia. Pre-law.”

“Woah, really? That’s amazing! ‘Course you’ve always been a genius.” Jordan shifted again. Their thighs bumped together. “I’m heading to art school.”

“Oh, so you spent the whole year smelling like cheap paint for a reason?” Matt asked, tilting his body in towards Jordan’s. Heat was radiating off the two of them.

“A true artist can create masterpieces out of the worst materials,” Jordan said. He let his hand fall so it was brushing Matt’s side. “Hey, Matt, you want to know a secret?”

“Sure.” Matt felt a stirring in his belly. Jordan leaned over so his lips were pressed against Matt’s ear. 

“I’ve had the biggest crush on you,” Jordan whispered in Matt’s ear. “And I’d love nothing more than to take you inside of that house and get us a room.”

Matt gasped when Jordan rolled his hips, revealing just how much he’d love to take Matt inside. Matt nodded, and they walked into the house, Jordan letting him hold on by the arm. They managed to find a room that was empty, though Matt could already smell the aftermath of the orgasms people had already had inside. Somehow, that’s what turned him on the most. The mingled scent of arousal.

Jordan pushed Matt against a wall and began to kiss him. It wasn’t Matt’s first kiss, or even his fifth, but it was the first kiss that Matt knew was going somewhere, and that made it feel so much better. Heightened, almost. With each press of their lips, their hips rolled together so they could feel each other hard in their jeans. 

During the kiss, Jordan reached down and pulled open Matt’s belt, then popped the button and slid down the zipper. He sank to his knees. Matt wished there was something for him to hang onto, instead of just the blank wall. Jordan reached into Matt’s underwear and pulled out his cock. Matt had never been touched there, and that alone was almost enough to make Matt come. 

Jordan leaned forward and swallowed down all of Matt’s cock in one go. Matt choked on his breath, his senses exploding at the sensation. He began to tremble, and was certain that he was going to come. But he didn’t. He needed… something. For Jordan to grip his hips with bruising strength and hold Matt still while he set the pace.

“C’mon, valedictorian,” Jordan said after pulling back. “Fuck my face. I can take it. I’m so good at taking it.”

The words, which were meant to entice, left Matt feeling cold. He managed some half hearted thrusts, and his cock twitched and spurted, but Matt didn’t feel any ecstacy. It just… hurt. 

Jordan pulled back, and chuckled. “You wanna fuck me, Matt? ...Matt?”

“S-sorry,” Matt stuttered. He reached down and quickly put himself back in his underwear. His skin felt flush. “I, I um.”

“Matt, I’m going to ask you something. And I don’t care about the answer, okay?” Jordan asked. Matt’s blood went cold. “Are you a virgin?” 

Matt almost laughed in relief. Yes, that he could do. Pretend that it was just first time nerves, that the repressed Catholic boy was ashamed at getting sucked off in someone else’s bedroom while people waited outside for their turn.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m a virgin,” Matt replied. 

“That’s cool, dude. I get it. You want to stop?” Jordan asked. Matt nodded.

“Are-- are you sure you don’t--?”

“Nah, man. You look ready to book it. You’re going to make some Sub real happy on your wedding night.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, forcing a chuckle. He and Jordan walked out of the room, and Jordan soon enough moved on to someone else. Matt just began his walk back to the orphanage, tired of partying even though the night was still relatively young.

As he walked through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, he began to smell arousal again. Not teenage arousal, like he was used to, but something stronger. More mature. Tinged with blood. He could hear a neon sign. A club? He could hear music coming from underground. He began to walk towards it.

The music, and the smell, was coming from the bottom of some steps heading beneath the streets. He walked instinctually towards it, but the hand of a man he had barely realised was there stopped him.

“I’m gonna need to see some I.D, kid,” the man said in a booming voice. Matt wanted to turn around and bury his head in the man’s chest while he said soothing words. 

Matt reached into his pocket and fumbled until he found his wallet. He pulled it out and handed it to the man, the beer settling in and distorting his understanding of the world. The man hummed.

“You’re a bit young. And a bit drunk. Do you even know where we are?”

“It smells good,” Matt said. He even sounded drunk. And young. Fuck. The man chuckled.

“Yeah, I bet it does. A cute little Sub like you must think it smells like heaven.” 

Matt just nodded.

“But that’s the type of place that uses cute little Subs as punching bags. And you’re a little drunk boy with a cross hanging ‘round his neck.”

“I’m not as fragile as I look,” Matt said through gritted teeth. The man laughed again.

“They all say that. Maybe you want to get your balls whipped until you’re coming for the eighth time. Or maybe you would take one step inside there and run all the way to New Jersey. And you’re too drunk right now to make that decision.”

Matt lifted his nose so he could catch more of that scent. “You won’t let me in?”

“Not tonight,” the man says. “Think it over for a bit first. Get yourself moved into college. Check that it’s actually something you want. And if you decide that it is…” 

The man leaned forward and pressed his nose to the side of Matt’s neck. He had to bend quite a bit to get there. Matt felt that electricity in his veins, the feeling that had been missing when he had been with Jordan. Matt took in a shuddering breath. 

“You go in and ask for Nick.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost entirely smut
> 
> Chapter Tags: Matt Murdock/OMC, Make-shift gags, Orgasm delay, Caning, Hole spanking, Aftercare, Subspace

Matt had a nightmare of a summer. St Agnes couldn’t house him anymore, and Columbia wouldn’t take him yet, so he’d had to dip into his Dad’s money and rent a crummy apartment with rowdy neighbors, occasional hot water, and a couch that smelled like a sewer. He was on edge, untethered from the past and terrified about the looming future.

He recited the price of his textbooks in his head, calculating how much on food he would have to cut back per week in order to pay for them. The numbers weren’t sounding good. Upstairs, two of his neighbors were fucking like cats in heat. Hell, the Sub even meowed at one point. He couldn’t focus, and was so wound up that he was actually getting hard in his jeans listening to them, and that just made him feel even more like a voyeur. 

When, less than five minutes after their previous orgasms (what were these women, olympic orgasmers?), they began to have sex _again_ , Matt snapped. He didn’t even bother to put on a jacket, just grabbing his cane and practically running out of the building to get away from the sounds, and the smells, and the vibrations through his roof. 

He began walking in an attempt to get rid of the nervous energy that was pounding through him. His heart felt like it was jackhammering in his chest, and his belly felt… he wanted to touch himself through his jeans, but that was too much like _that_ , and the thought of bringing himself to orgasm made Matt feel ill. So he just kept wandering, seemingly aimlessly, until he heard the sound of neon.

Matt stopped. It smelled the same when he was sober. In fact, it smelled a little better, and he could hear the faintest echo of moans beneath the music. Matt felt around and was relieved that he still had his wallet in his jeans pocket. He gulped. It was a bad idea. It was a terrible idea. He wanted it so bad.

“I.D.?” A gruff voice asked. Not Nick’s. Matt reached in and grabbed it, showing it to the bouncer. He hummed. “You know what’s down there, right?”

“Yes,” Matt said, firmly. 

“If you’re a beginner, you have to tell them.”

“Yeah, I will.” Matt gripped his cane. He was waiting for the man to point it out, but he didn’t. Instead he just sighed.

“When you go in, talk to the bartender, Felicia. She’ll figure out who to pass you over to.”

“Nick told me to ask for him,” Matt said. The man chuckled, and his demeanor changed. He was open, instead of suspicious.

“Damn, you didn’t even get inside and he’s already got a claim? Lucky prick.” The man laughed again, and Matt felt warmth in his gut. He wasn’t sure what it meant. “Well, you go on little Sub. He’s already been in there an hour, and you don’t want to keep him waiting.”

The man stood aside to let Matt forward. Getting down the steps was a bit tricky-- they were very small-- but he got down safely. He knew when he was at the bottom, because he could smell lust everywhere, like he had stuck his head between someone’s thighs and breathed. He opened the door.

“Hi!” A bubbly voice said the moment he stepped over the threshold. Matt tried not to jump. He should have known she was there. “I’m Samantha, I take care of coats and bags and other things. Is there anything you would like me to look after for you?”

Matt gripped his cane. It was getting in the way, but if he gave it up people would ask questions. If he didn’t give it up, people would ask questions. If he couldn’t notice a woman standing in the doorway, where the scents and sounds were at their weakest, then he had no hope of maneuvering without it. Instead, he gave Samantha his wallet and his phone, in exchange for a ticket.

“Is that all?” Samantha asked. Matt cocked his head. “There’s no shame in going a little more risque, you know. Most people here leave the bulk of their clothes at the door.”

“Oh, I, um--”

“Have never done this before,” Samantha offered in that same bubbly tone. “I got it. Don’t worry, sugar, you’ll be fine. Nothing like the tease, is there? Now, just come back to me at the end of the night and I’ll give you back your things.”

“They’ll be safe?” Matt asked. Setting up a phone for vision impairments was a pain, and his wallet was his Dad’s.

“They’ll be safe.” Samantha reached out and brushed one long, and Matt imagined manicured, fingernail down his cheek. “And so will you.”

More people were coming down the stairs, so Matt moved further inside. It was a rush, to be surrounded by bodies. He could get flashes of sensation from all around him-- people performing what he imagined where covert sexual acts, people in pain, people in ecstasy, mostly people in painful ecstasy. It was wonderful, but it was also too much, far too much, and Matt felt unmoored.

“Well, look who the wolf dragged in.”

Matt smiled, his body relaxing slowly. “It’s the cat, not the wolf.”

“Not the way I tell it,” Nick said. He reached out and brushed a hand against Matt’s shoulder. “Were you looking for me?”

“I was thinking about it,” Matt replied. “Thought I’d get someone to describe you first, though. Just to make sure you don’t have a hump.”

“No hump,” Nick said, laughing. “No third eye, forked tongue, or tentacle dick either.” 

“No tentacle dick? Sorry, that’s a deal breaker for me.” It was nice, flirting with someone who didn’t expect what he couldn’t give. Who didn’t want him to take charge of the conversation, whisper sweet nothings in their ear about what he wanted to do and how he wanted to do it. To be taken care of. 

“Seriously, kid, what are you here for?” Nick asked. “You’re gorgeous, you’re young. You can’t be experienced enough to know you like the really hard stuff.”

“I do martial arts,” Matt offers by way of explanation. “I learned very quickly that I like to be hurt.”

“Oh yeah?” Nick was moving closer. “Did you pop a boner during lessons?”

“You can say that.” You could also say the exact opposite, but no one needed to know.

“Did you learn you like to be pinned down?” Nick reached around and grabbed one of Matt’s wrists, the one not holding his cane. He squeezed, just enough that it started to hurt, enough that Matt gasped and nodded. “That you like to have a Dom on top of you?”

“Making me take it,” Matt groaned. “Knowing exactly what my body can take and pushing me even when I think I’m falling apart.”

Nick moaned. His lips were right beside Matt’s ear. Matt could feel him through his pants, and he felt big. It was scary, but Matt also felt something twinge at the thought of sucking on it, choking on it, being impaled on it.

“You want to play a little, baby?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. Cleared his throat. “But is there somewhere a little more private? It’s really overwhelming in here.”

Nick released Matt’s wrist, and instead offered his arm. Matt took it. They walked through the bodies, down a corridor with the same sounds, but muffled. They entered a room that was empty, and Nick shut the door. Everything became duller. Matt imagined that for normal people it was soundproof.

“Have you done anything like this before?” Nick asked. He handed Matt a glass of water, which Matt took gladly. Matt shook his head.

“I’ve only really… Got grinded on by a girl last year. Someone gave me a blowjob that night I came here.”

“That’s not much, kid. Either of them Dom you?”

“No.” Matt took a sip of water. Walked over to a plush seat and sat down. “Everyone at school thinks I’m a Dom. Everyone at the orphanage thinks I’m fragile. Neither is good for my sex life.”

Nick chuckles at that, even if his heart did stutter at the orphanage comment. There was a little pity there, but it was bearable. Matt usually had to deal with a lot worse than bearable. Nick sat down on the opposite chair. He was facing Matt. Matt hoped he was staring.

“I can be pretty rough,” Nick said, as if he were stating his eye color. “But you’re a beginner. I know you said you liked pain, but a different context could cause a different reaction. It can bring out different things in you, things you didn’t know existed. You know, the first time I cropped someone I felt awful for weeks, because I realised that I had never once offered to do something for someone without it benefiting me. And here this lovely boy was, letting me nearly break his skin because he knew it made me happy.”

“I get that,” Matt said quietly. “But I want to try. The thought makes me feel good. And I’m Catholic, nothing makes me feel good.”

Nick laughed again, and Matt laughed with him. They talked some more, and then Nick got up and moved behind Matt. He placed his hands on Matt’s shoulders and began to massage. Matt could feel his body tingling with the touch.

“Tonight we’ll do something small,” Nick said. He continued to run his hands over Matt’s upper body, making Matt’s shirt rub against his skin. Matt tipped his head back, resting his crown against Nick’s abdomen. “Something to get you feeling nice.”

Nick slipped his hand under Matt’s shirt. Matt could feel every ridge of the man’s hands, feel his finger’s getting caught in Matt’s sweat, hear the hairs on the back of his hands brushing against Matt’s shirt. Matt moaned when Nick’s hands finally, finally, brushed against his nipples.

Matt never played with his nipples, just knew that sometimes they would feel nice when brushing up against something. Nick rolled them between his fingers, lightly flicking and pinching them. Matt began to roll his hips just to feel the seam of his jeans against him. It almost felt like a touch.

Nick’s breath was speeding up a little, and his heart was thumping in a steady beat. Matt could smell Nick’s arousal building, could sense him growing hard in his jeans. A few doors down a woman shrieked in ecstacy. 

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna--” 

Nick pulled his hands away and Matt took in a few shuddering breaths. He imagined the building itself was twitching like Matt’s engorged cock, clenching down on the bodies inside of it. Everything around him was arousal. He tried to breathe, to will himself down from that edge.

“That’s so hot, baby.” Nick rested a hand on the back of Matt’s head. Matt cringed at the sweat dripping from his hair. “You want to come already?”

“S-sensitive,” Matt said. He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “So close.”

“Really?” Nick started to play with Matt’s hair. “Could I make you come untouched, do you think?”

“Yes!” Matt gasped out. There was a man across the hall who was getting pounded into, and Matt was so jealous. A couple of choice words, or even Nick masturbating while leaving Matt alone in his chair, would make Matt come in his pants. Everyone’s arousal was beating down on him. 

Nick broke away for a moment, and Matt wondered if he was going to leave Matt alone in his chair. But he came back with a straw for the water and held it to Matt’s lips. Matt drank like he had been wandering a desert, and his throat felt like it too. When the glass was empty, Nick stroked one hand down Matt’s cheek. It was large enough to cover almost all of Matt’s face. 

“I want you to hold off on coming for as long as you can, okay?”

Matt whined, but nodded. Nick got back up, and this time came back with a box. Matt could hear things rattle inside. Nick knelt down behind him and opened the box. Matt could smell leather, and metal, and some things he had smelled before but couldn’t name. Nick pulled out something that reminded Matt of the bracelets some kids at his school wore. They were padded and soft when they closed around Matt’s wrist. There was a buckle locking them. Then Nick pulled them closer together so that Matt’s shoulders strained. He shuffled in his seat as Nick locked the handcuffs. 

“Good boy,” Nick said, and Matt preened. Those two words and suddenly Matt felt like the tar in his mind was clear water again, and Matt was floating in it like he used to do when he and his father could afford to go to the pool. Nick stroked Matt’s face again before tipping his head back and devouring Matt with a kiss. 

Nick held Matt’s head in place with a finger beneath his chin, and his hand drifted down to Matt’s lower stomach. His fingers danced along Matt’s belt before popping open the button of Matt’s jeans and lowering the zipper. Matt shuffled in his seat as Nick reached inside of his underwear and brought him out into the open. He wrapped a tight fist around Matt, and before Matt had the chance to adjust to the feeling, began to stroke Matt furiously. 

Remembering the order, Matt did his best not to come. He focused on the not sexy sounds, tried to smell the sewage in the pipes, and searched for the movement of people on the sidewalk above them. It didn’t do much, and Nick wasn’t slowing down. Matt shook his head frantically, he was so close, so very close--

Nick let go, standing up and leaving Matt to heave. He felt like he couldn’t get nearly enough breath in his lungs. His cock was aching, the teeth of his zipper digging in at the base. He wanted to come so badly, even though he knew that when he was this worked up, surrounded by this much arousal, that coming was going to be agony. He wanted the pain.

“So beautiful.” Nick put his hands under Matt’s armpits and helped Matt to his feet. Matt swayed, and Nick gathered him to his chest. His shirt was soft against Matt’s cheek. Nick was still completely clothed, while Matt stood there with his cock exposed for anyone to see. Matt flushed at the humiliation. 

Nick reached down and grabbed at Matt’s ass, first through Matt’s jeans and then tugging open Matt’s belt and reaching under the fabric so he was touching Matt’s bare flesh. Matt groaned, and when those fingers began to pull his cheeks apart so his hole was exposed that groan turned into a whine.

“You’re so tight, kid,” Nick said, rubbing a finger over Matt’s hole. “You ever play back here before?”

“No,” Matt groaned. “Being raised by nuns doesn’t give a kid a lot of-- a lot of access to lube-- oh, please.”

Nick just continued to rub, no matter how much Matt tried to swivel his hips and make one of Nick’s fingers dip inside of him. When Matt nearly succeeded, Nick shoved Matt’s jeans down and gave his ass a heavy smack. Matt jumped, so Nick gave him a few more.

“Do your nuns like to smack your ass or your knuckles?” Nick asked as he spanked Matt. Matt grunted.

“Knuckles.”

“Good.” Nick stopped his spanking and stepped back from Matt. He grabbed the tool box in one hand and took hold of Matt’s collar with the other. Nick walked Matt over to a table of some sort and pushed Matt down so that his upper body was lying on it. He knelt down and took hold of Matt’s left ankle, pulling it to the side until it touched the table leg and locking Matt’s ankle to it. He then did the same to the other side. Matt’s heart pounded, his lower half fully exposed. He wondered how good the lighting was, how much Nick could see. “I know nun porn is a thriving genre, but I’m pretty sure that’s only for people who’ve never met one.”

Matt snorted. Getting taught sex ed by Sisters had been enough to nearly turn him celibate for life. It would certainly turn anyone off nun porn.

“Do you want to take these off?” Nick asked in a soft voice, touching his finger to Matt’s glasses. “They might hurt you otherwise. If you don’t want me to look, I won’t.”

Even with his junk fully on display, Matt was reluctant to succumb to the nakedness of not having his glasses. He knew it was smarter to take them off, and that Nick would hardly see them anyway, but he felt vulnerable without them. Nick didn’t move, giving Matt the time to think it over. Eventually Matt nodded, and Nick slid them off his face. He put them down gently somewhere they wouldn’t get in the way, and pressed a kiss on Matt’s brow before sitting Matt’s head on his folded up jeans.

“Bite down on those. I want to see a nice wet patch by the time we’re finished.” Nick moved behind Matt. Matt gathered the denim between his teeth. “If you get overwhelmed and need me to slow down or stop, just say so, okay? No fancy stuff for your first time.”

Nick waited for Matt to nod his confirmation, before Matt felt the shift in pressure of something moving in the air. A heavy weight slapped against his ass, and Matt jumped. His skin burned where it had hit him, a lot different to the feel of a hand. Nick hit him again. The implement was long and rectangle. Heavy. A ruler. So that’s why Nick had asked about the nuns.

Matt tried to keep track of the hits, even though Nick hadn’t asked him too, but every hit made his brain a little bit fuzzier. The guy across the hall was begging for it to stop, that he didn’t want to come anymore. The woman down the hall was begging _to_ come. Matt was rubbing against the table with every strike. 

Matt’s ass was burning by the time Nick took a break. Nick rubbed his hands against Matt’s skin, and it felt soothing. It took a moment for Matt to realise Nick was pulling Matt’s cheeks open, and by then it was too late. The ruler came down on Matt’s hole, and Matt yelled, thrashing in his bonds. There was another smack from the ruler, and another, and Matt’s hole felt like it was on fire. Nick pulled back after barely any strikes, but Matt felt like Nick had been spanking his hole for hours. 

Nick pressed a hand on Matt’s back and stroked him gently. He reached under Matt and took hold of Matt’s cock. Matt whined and squirmed to get away, but Nick began to stroke anyway.

“It’s okay, little Sub, you can come.” Nick said, keeping his strokes firm and consistent. Matt shook his head and spit out the jeans.

“Don’t-- don’t want--”

“You don’t want to come?” Nick asked. He didn’t stop stroking. Matt shook his head. “Why?”

“Hurts!” was all that Matt managed to say. He could go into the full details of how sometimes, when he came, his gut clenched a little too tightly, and the world became too much for him to handle, and he became so sensitive that every touch felt like it burned.

“Do you want to hurt?” Nick asked, in the same gentle tone he had used when asking about Matt’s glasses. Matt nodded. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t get to decide when you come.”

He pulled Matt’s head back so that he could kiss him again, his strokes speeding up. Matt’s muscles ached, the new position putting strain on his arms and his hips shifting wildly trying to get some leverage. He could feel how hard Nick was, could smell pre-come in his trousers. The woman down the hall shrieked again as she came, the man across from them came a final time and passed out in his bonds, and Matt could feel his body dissolving.

It hurt even more than he thought it would. Matt felt like he was being consumed by fire, thrashing in his bonds while his cock pulsed and with each pulse sent more pain through Matt’s body. Nick kept stroking, prolonging Matt’s orgasm long after he started straining in his bonds trying to get away. He finally released Matt, and Matt collapsed onto the table.

“You want my come, baby?” Nick asked. Matt whined and shifted his hips. Nick chuckled. “Not there. Not today. Where else do you want it?”

“On… on my back,” Matt replied. Nick tapped his ass.

“Good boy. Gag yourself on those jeans again, kid.”

Matt pulled the soaking jeans back between his teeth. Behind him, he heard the shifting of fabric and movement of a zipper. The scent of Nick’s arousal got stronger, and soon enough Matt heard the wet sound of Nick stroking himself off. It only took a couple of minutes until Nick was moaning and painting Matt’s back with his come. 

They remained in their positions, panting heavily. Nick leaned against Matt and reached down to run his hands through the mess he made, before spreading it around and rubbing it into Matt’s aching muscles as if it was a lotion. Matt felt like he was going to come again.

Nick released Matt’s legs first, rubbing them gently. He separated the handcuffs but didn’t remove them, which Matt was thankful for. He pulled Matt back and gathered Matt into his arms, even though Matt wasn’t small or light by any means. It was nice, curling up in someone’s arms, his mind far away. It made his soul ache, but he ignored it. 

Nick carried him over to a couch and wrapped him in the softest blanket Matt had ever felt. He held the straw back to Matt’s lips and made Matt drink two glasses, before feeding Matt pieces of a protein bar, then some cheese, then some fruit. Matt could taste a mix of their come on each bite. 

“How do you feel?” Nick asked when Matt started to feel, and he assumed, a little more aware.

“Fuzzy,” Matt said. “It’s amazing.”

Nick leaned forward and pressed another kiss to Matt’s temple. It took a fair amount of time for Matt to come back to himself enough to be functional, though how much Matt wasn’t sure. When Matt did come back, they made out a little, and then Nick helped Matt get dressed. He kept getting interrupted by Matt pressing kisses, licks, and small nips to any place he could reach. 

“You did wonderfully,” Nick said as they stood at the door of their private room. Matt had his cane and glasses back, a confirmation that it was time to go back to being Matt Murdock. “If you ever want to do this again, I’m here.”

“Maybe one of these days you’ll even fuck me,” Matt said. He still felt a little giddy, and knew he was smiling like he was drunk. 

“You’ll have to earn that, kid.” Nick laughed when that made Matt whine and thrust against him, reaching down to give Matt another smack. Nick offered his arm and led Matt to the coat check, where Samantha was humming to herself. 

“Oh, aren’t you cute when you’ve gone all floaty?” She said, handing Matt the tray containing his things. Matt felt his face warm up, and Nick stood straighter. 

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Nick squeezed Matt’s shoulder.

“Careful Nicky,” Samantha said. “Don’t go staking a claim yet.”

“If I don’t, I’m going to have to fight off the wolves,” Nick said, sounding jovial at the thought. He leaned forward and gave Matt another hungry kiss, and a warning about taking care of himself for the next few days. Matt didn’t want to leave, but the smell of sex was becoming too much and Matt felt exhausted. He wished Nick would carry him home and tuck him into bed, but that was a feeling he didn’t feel comfortable having, let alone voicing. “Now go get some sleep.”

Matt nodded and opened the door. He walked slowly up the concrete stairs, the night having become a little chilly now that it was technically early morning. He could still hear Samantha and Nick talking, something about helping out a woman named Jocelyn, and at one point some comments about how cute Matt was, which made him flush even more.

By the time Matt walked home, his muscles were screaming, and he wished he had taken a cab but it was worth it. Like the times with Stick when he had _really_ pushed until he had come out the other side, sated and victorious. It felt wonderful. Matt made himself take a quick shower to keep his muscles from locking up, and was happy that even when he dried himself he could still smell Nick on him. He crawled into his cheap bed and passed out almost immediately, with a dopey grin still on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are all staying safe and well


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a rough one, so please take care and make sure you're in the right mental space. 
> 
> Chapter Tags: **Flashbacks due to Triggers, Failure to Safeword, Terrible BDSM Ettiquette** , Daddy Kink, Sensation Play, Irritants, Break up

Nick turned out to have a daughter who was a sophomore in college, which meant he was great at advising Matt through his logical and less logical freak outs about what was going to happen once the semester started. He was also the founder of a chain of gyms, which explained why he had almost twice of Matt’s muscle mass but could also afford to buy Matt a set of training plugs that he would gently push into Matt at the start of the evening and leave in while they talked, and especially while they played. 

After a month, Matt would take off his glasses automatically. When it was reasonable to assume Matt would know the layout of the room, he would set his cane down as soon as they were in their private room as well. 

Nick was careful to train Matt well, easing Matt through the art of blowjobs until Matt could deepthroat without hesitation or preparation. He taught Matt how to relax into blows and how to strain against his restraints without hurting himself. How to kneel properly, and after enough build up that Matt thought he may genuinely die, how to be fucked.

“How was your first week at college?” Nick asked, pouring them both a glass of water. He refused to mix alcohol and play, and even then swore up and down that he wasn’t going to give alcohol to a minor.

“Good,” Matt said. He was exhausted, and a bit of a wreck, but he was genuinely enjoying it. “My roommate’s really nice, even if he snores a bit.”

“When I was in college I had a roommate who did weed all the time. I mean all of the time-- I once came back and you couldn’t see inside our room it was so smokey.” Nick sat down beside Matt on the couch and reached over, taking Matt’s leg and resting it in his lap.

“Did he pass?” Matt asked.

“Flying colors, actually. Weed, philosophy majors, you know how it is.” They laughed. Matt wondered if Foggy did weed. His hair seemed quite long, and he never shaved, so maybe.

“I have a question,” Matt said, unable to stop himself from rushing through the words and showing that he had been practicing this conversation in his head for a while now. Nick just hummed. “What do you like?”

“Huh?” Nicked rubbed his hand over Matt’s ankle.

“I mean, you always give me what I want. What about what you want?” Matt asked, shifting closer.

“Kid, this is what I want. I don’t know if you noticed, but whipping little Catholic boys really turns me on.” He brought Matt’s foot to his crotch, which was already swelling.

“I know,” Matt said. He pressed his foot against Nick’s groin. “But what about the special stuff? I know you like calling me pet names, but you won’t even let me call you sir.”

“I get called sir every day,” Nick said. He grabbed Matt’s hips and pulled him into his lap. 

“Master?” Matt asked. He felt the air shift as Nick shook his head.

“Definitely not. That’s what my ex used to call me, as a joke. Kinda killed any chance of it making me horny.” Nick’s heart was beating fast. “I know it’s cliche, but a little Sub like you calling me Daddy is…”

“Daddy?” Matt asked, and ignored the sharp pain in his chest. “I’ve never tried that before.”

“Would you like to?” Nick was playing with the hem of Matt’s briefs.

“I like when you call me baby,” Matt said, pressing a kiss to Nick’s neck that turned into a soft bite. 

“Yeah? Does Baby want his Daddy’s cock?” Matt felt that sharp pain, somewhere deep within him, but above that he could feel his hole clench at the thought of being fucked.

“So bad. Want your cock so bad,” Matt said. “And your whip, and your wax, and everything else you want to give me.”

Nick grabbed the hem of Matt’s shirt and pulled it off him. Matt fumbled trying to do the same, because there were so many sensations and he was distracted, so Nick took his own shirt off before peeling off Matt’s boxers as well. He pulled Matt up and began to walk him backwards, a bruising grip on his hip and the back of his neck. 

Matt was locked into the pain of cuffs hanging from the ceiling, his arms stretching like he was getting a work out. Nick slowly pulled out his plug and replaced it with a ridged dildo. With something strange and spicy smelling on it. Matt thrashed when he felt the oil against his walls. Nick laughed behind him, and Matt wanted to call him a sadist, but of course he was. Matt wriggled in his bonds in an attempt to get away from the irritant Nick had put on the dildo.

He was so busy trying to escape the burn inside of him that Matt didn’t notice the switch until it struck his side. Even then, Matt was preoccupied with the burn in his gut and the sting that he didn’t notice the switch coming at him from the other direction. Nick was always good at mixing things up, not letting Matt know what was coming and when. It left Matt disorientated, but made him sink faster than he knew was possible.

“What do you say, baby?” Nick asked, the switch landing on Matt’s ass. 

“Thank you!” Matt cried out. The switch came down again.

“What do you __say__?” Nick asked.

“Thank you!” Matt repeated. “Daddy, thank you!”

That sharp pain returned, deeper than the flogger could reach. His stomach was turning, not like it usually did when he was turned on but almost like he was going to be sick. He tuned it out to focus on the strike of the switch against his skin, and the pain that would bloom under it.

“You want more, baby?” Nick’s voice had gotten deeper.

“Yes!” Matt gulped past his discomfort. “Daddy!”

Nick dropped the flogger and brought two gloved fingers to Matt’s hole, each other covered in that oil that was making him burn. Matt tried to get away but Nick held him still with an arm around his waist. He sank the fingers inside of Matt, twisting them as he moved. He thrust them back and forth rapidly, then coated Matt’s walls with the stuff again. Matt was panting by the time he added the third finger. Nick aimed directly for Matt’s prostate, pushing the oil inside him and making Matt enjoy it. The repeated jabs made Matt twist and whine, and then come.

“The great thing about condoms--” Nick said while Matt caught his breath. He had removed his pants, and was now as naked as Matt. “--Is that I can fuck you as much as I want even while you’re burning inside.”

Nick sank in. The latex against Matt’s sensitive walls made him yell, even more than the sudden penetration. He clenched around the cock inside of him, which made the fire inside him brighter. Nick reached back and Matt couldn’t figure out what he was doing, only that he was putting something on his hand. It smelled like--

Matt screamed when Nick wrapped his oil-coated, gloved hand around Matt’s cock and began to stroke. The burn was everywhere, and his skin stung with the welts left behind by the switch. He thrust himself back onto Nick’s cock, crying out as he was caught between two extreme sensations.

“Please!” Matt swung in his chains.

“Please, what, baby?”

“Please let me go! Please let me come!” Matt felt like his cock was going to fall off.

“I can only give you one baby.” Nick tightened his grip.

“Come!” Matt said. “Please let me come!”

“Of course, baby,” Nick said, reaching back and adding more oil before resuming his strokes. “Just say the magic word.”

“Daddy!” Matt screamed, the burning pulsing through him. “Daddy, please! Daddy!”

__“Daddy!”_ _

And then Matt wasn’t there anymore. He was in an alleyway, with something bloody and squishy like uncooked meat leaking out from his father’s face. The sensations of his burning cock, of being fucked, were still there, but they were mixed with the terror of being ten and the only person you know lying dead beneath your hands. He kept screaming out for his father, sinking deeper into the tar that had been clogging his mind for years. This was how he was going to drown in it.

He woke up in slow increments. His head felt like it had been stuffed, not with cotton but like he had been fully taxidermied. There was still some burn, but most of it had been washed away. He ached, with the ache you get when you had a depressive episode as well as the flu. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry.

Someone rushed up and put a straw between his lips which he drank, gladly. It was a woman. Nick was gone. He whined, unable to think beyond the bestial need to have his Dom beside him. 

“Hi, Matt,” the woman said quietly. Her voice was nice-- not quite mothering, but with some affection and care in it. Like a teacher or something. “I’m Jocelyn. We’ve met a few times, remember?”

Matt didn’t, at least not at the moment. He nodded anyway. She chuckled but didn’t call him out on the lie.

“Do you know where you are?” She asked. She began to stroke Matt’s hair back.

“Club,” he managed to answer after a few swallows. 

“That’s right, well done. Your Scene went wrong sweetie. I’ve worked with enough PTSD cases to recognize a trigger when I see it. How are you feeling?”

“Alone,” Matt croaked. He was crying, and had been since he woke up, even though he had no reason to be. He tried to stop himself from talking, but couldn’t. “Ashamed. Dirty. Untethered. Take your pick.”

The woman sighed. “You Dropped quite a bit. Your Dom, he… he didn’t notice right away. We’ve managed to get you out of it, but you’re probably going to feel like hell for a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt whispered. She shushed him, but he repeated it anyway. Chanted it like a mantra.

“No one is mad at you, darling.” 

“Then why isn’t he here?” Matt asked. He was starting to slur again, and she began to stroke his neck as well as his hair.

“Nick is a very good Dom.” The woman sighed. “Especially for beginners. And he prides himself on that. The fact that he didn’t realize you had gone under, especially when we realized you were having a flashback… He wants you to know how sorry he is. I told him to tell you himself, but...” 

She sighed again.

“He left?” Matt asked, his voice breaking.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” She climbed onto the couch with Matt, resting his head on her shoulder and bringing him close while he cried. It was only when he felt the painful indent of his glasses against his face that Matt realized Nick must have put them back on.

\---

Matt avoided the club after that. Instead, he spent his weekends hanging out with Foggy, who turned out to be more than just nice and actually a great person to be around. He even picked up the blind stuff astonishingly quickly, enough for Matt to suspect that he may have been googling on the side.

But luck and Matt were never bosom buddies, and that was how Matt ended up almost literally running into Nick at a cafe one afternoon. Nick was leaving it, Matt was entering it, and they both got snarked at for blocking the doorway.

“Hi,” Matt said, the warmth of the cafe battling against the cool wind.

“Hey, kid,” Nick said, his voice brisk but his heart pounding.

“Can we talk?” Matt asked as Nick turned away. Nick sighed, but turned back towards the cafe. 

“Yeah, kid. We can talk.” Nick offers Matt his arm, and he doesn’t order anything while Matt gets a latte and some discount muffins.

“They always slash the prices after five,” Matt explained as they sit down at a quiet table in the corner. “It’s the only way my roommate and I can afford them.”

“How’s that going?” Nick asked. “College and everything.”

“Good,” Matt said. “There’s always either too much to do or not enough, and I’ve been drunk more often in the past two months than my whole life, but good. And you?”

“Good.” Nick made no follow up questions. 

The waitress fidgeted when she brought Matt’s coffee to a silent table, and hurried away as soon as possible.

“I should explain,” Matt said after too long of awkward silence. Nick clenched a fist somewhere beneath the table. “When I was ten, my Dad died.”

Nick inhaled sharply.

“I didn’t know that I… I forgot, to be honest. That… __that word__ was all I could say after he died. I didn’t realize I was upset, either. It didn’t feel good, but I thought I could deal with it.”

“You’re supposed to say if it doesn’t feel good,” Nick growled. “That’s what safewords, pauses, every piece of consent is __for__. I have to trust that every Sub will understand their limits, even more than they have to trust that I understand them. I hurt you, Matt!”

Matt flinched. He shook his head. “No, it was my fault.”

“But I was the one who didn’t stop.” Nick’s heart sounded like it was going to come out of his ribcage. “I was the one who didn’t notice you were in distress. You were Dropping, Matt. If you had gotten any worse we would have had to take you to hospital!”

Matt flinched. He hated remembering how pathetic his biology was. Nick sighed, exhausted. Matt wondered if he was sleeping properly.

“I’m not saying this was your fault, Matt,” Nick said quietly. Every time he called him ‘Matt’ it sounded like a slap. Worse-- a slap could feel good. “But you put the both of us in a dangerous situation. It happens, especially with inexperienced Subs. I think you should consider getting some therapy before you try the clubs again.”

“I’m fine,” Matt snapped.

“Kid, what happened to you was the result of trauma. It could be caused by something serious. You need help.”

“I don’t need anything,” Matt said, wondering if he sounded as dead as he felt. Nick pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Then I’ll have to put you on the red list at the club.”

“Red list?”

“People who are at risk,” Nick explained. “You can’t be trusted with your own well being. Which means no Dom should be going near you.”

“You can’t do that!” His sudden outburst made the young woman packing her things jump. He didn’t have the heart to be apologetic.

“You could get killed. Do you understand that?” Matt didn’t answer. “No, I guess you don’t. You’re an amazing kid, Matt, and if it wasn’t for this I wouldn’t be letting you go. But you need help. Actual, genuine help. And I can’t give it to you.”

Nick stood up and kissed Matt on the head. Matt leaned into it, but Nick pulled away anyway. He didn’t say goodbye, just walked out the door and left Matt frozen in his chair. Matt stayed there, not even the staff willing to ask him to leave even though it was well past closing time.

It was evening by the time Matt dragged himself back to the dorms. He had missed dinner, but he wasn’t hungry. 

“Hey, Matt! Was wondering where you-- you okay?”

“I think I just got dumped,” Matt said, managing to take off his shoes, socks, and jacket before climbing into bed. Foggy immediately scrambled over, sitting on Matt’s bed. It didn’t irritate Matt as much as he thought it would.

“What do you need? Booze? Ice cream? Hugs?” 

Matt had never had a mom, but he guessed that this would probably be what it was like. 

“Hugs?” Matt asked tentatively, before the rational part of his brain could stop him. Without hesitation, Foggy lay down beside him in what could only be called a flop, and wrapped his arm around Matt.

“I’ve got you, buddy,” Foggy said. “And if you want to get your cry on, I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Thanks Foggy,” Matt croaked. He was definitely going to end up crying at some point. “You’re a good friend.”

He pretended he didn’t hear Foggy’s heart skip a beat. He pretended his didn’t either.

\---

Matt felt a guttural reaction to the thought that anything Nick had said was right. He didn’t know what had pissed him off more-- that Nick had him banned, or said he was incapable of being a good Sub. Or maybe it was the idea that Matt’s endurance, which was one of the few things he prided himself on, was a weakness that needed treatment. 

Whatever it was, it made Matt feel a genuine anger he hadn’t felt in years.

Which was a problem when Matt realized that, even if Nick wasn’t right, he had brought to light an issue that Matt hadn’t realized he had. The… Daddy fiasco… had made realize that the discomfort he felt had an actual cause. That maybe his father’s death had resulted in some tangled threads so that something harmless pulled at something painful.

Matt wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t Foggy who did it.

The man proudly named himself __Foggy__. Of course, it fit him perfectly while Franklin certainly did not, but it was still an open warning sign that Foggy was someone who liked nicknames. And he really did-- everyone had a nickname, some fond and some not so fond. The more nicknames you had, the more Foggy liked you. Matt had at least eight, not that he was counting.

Matt liked nicknames. He just didn’t like that one.

He rationalized it as it being childish, and Matt was an adult now and shouldn’t be referred to by something demeaning. Except Foggy was named Foggy, and at no point did he act like that wasn’t the name of a fully grown man. But Foggy was an able-bodied Dom who didn’t have to work for every shred of respect he got, unlike Matt who spent every moment of his life clawing at people to give him even the smallest bit of acknowledgement, only for it to be torn down because his best friend wouldn’t stop calling him __that.__

But that wasn’t the reason. 

Matt was never going to admit that Nick was right.

“Yo, Matty!” Foggy called, and Matt felt his organs clench at the word. 

It was a kegger, and everyone was extremely drunk, including Matt. He had been drinking a lot since Nick had refused to see him anymore. Foggy had disappeared to go talk to some friends from the few classes he took that Matt stayed away from (including Dynamic Psychology, which was a class Matt was never going to step foot in even if they made it a requirement to graduate). Foggy seemed to have returned, though, with a beer in each hand.

“Matt,” Matt mumbled. Foggy sat down on the outside steps beside him, handing Matt a beer. He made a questioning noise. Matt took a deep breath, and then a large gulp. “I prefer Matt.”

“Oh, sorry dude, I didn’t realise--” Foggy’s heart was pounding, the really thunderous one when he felt guilty. 

“It’s not--- it’s not a problem, I just--” __Feel like I’m going to be sick every time I hear it__ , Matt thought. Foggy’s shoulders slumped, because it had been half a year of Foggy calling Matt ‘Matty’ and now Matt was telling him that he hated it. Matt leaned forward. “It’s just that my Dad called me that. And… I had this... teacher, I guess, who was an ass, and he would call me Matty and when I hear it, I--”

“It’s okay, Matt,” Foggy said, resting his hand on Matt’s. “So no Matty, good to know.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said, his hand shaking. It had been far too long since he had been under. Fucking Nick. “I like when you call me stuff, just… not that one?”

“Gotcha,” Foggy said, brightening up again. “I will dub you with the most magnificent nicknames ever, and they shall have absolutely no baggage attached to them!” 

Foggy flung his arms out while he was gesturing, and managed to accidentally hit someone in the leg. Foggy was apologetic, and the girl was even more drunk than they were so she laughed it off, even joining them for a beer or two. She was a Sub, and Foggy had tried to set them up, which Matt had to politely turn down.

“You sure you don’t want to go with her?” Foggy asked. The girl had declared that she was going to get another drink, if Matt wanted to join her, but Matt had let her go. “She’s hot, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“No,” Matt laughed. He slung his arm over Foggy’s shoulders. “I’m happier here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safewords exist for a reason, people! And Matthew Michael Murdock doesn't care about any of them. Also, Foggy never calls Matt 'Matty' in canon, and while I melt every time he does in a fic this is my personal headcanon for why he doesn't. And sadly I don't think Matt would ever be able to call someone 'Daddy' for the same reasons.
> 
> I'm hoping to use some more of Nick later down the line. I love some sexual training ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Elektra Natchios
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Matt/Elektra, Pegging, Dirty Talk, Subdrop, Depression

College was difficult. It was hard, and messy, and some days Matt thought that he was going to collapse under the weight of essays and assignments and exams. But it was also fun, and exhilarating, and Matt decided he quite liked being the best. Not because being anything less was a betrayal of his Dad’s memory but because it felt good. It made him proud. 

But the one thing that made college the best part of Matt’s life was that he had a friend. A proper, genuine friend. Not a friend like he had in grade school who he always fought with over dumb stuff only five year olds cared about. And not like the friends he had in high school who never got close enough to even really talk to. 

No, Foggy was more than that. Foggy talked like it was easy, like sharing your thoughts, your feelings, the way your crush looked in that tight black dress she liked wasn’t just baring the chinks in your armor. He showed affection without hesitation, ruffling Matt’s hair and cuddling with him on the couch and offering his arm even when he didn’t need to just because he liked being able to touch Matt while they walked. And he could _admit_ that.

Foggy was also an amazing Dom. He would know just the right time to be stern, and know the exact way to do it. There were no gruffly barked orders, or vague implications that were meant to be orders but left Matt confused and upset for not being able to follow them correctly. No they were always gentle, closer to suggestions but with no room for disobedience.

“Drink this,” Foggy would say as he pressed a full bottle of water into Matt’s hand after he had gone all day without drinking anything.

“Matt, you’ve got three lectures in a row this morning, eat some breakfast!” Foggy would say before making he and Matt matching bowls of cereal. Matt wouldn’t even be fully awake yet, but it would be ready for him as soon as he pulled his clothes on every time.

“Oh, this is delicious, Matt my man you have got to try this,” Foggy would say before pressing the curried potato to Matt’s lips. And Foggy was always right. Foggy would never steer him wrong.

And every time, Matt would respond with a dutiful “yes, Foggy”. 

It took him a while to realize that Foggy tended to date other Doms. And that was fine, really. Foggy was more of a doting Dom, and that was the type of guy who just made for a great boyfriend regardless of Dynamic. In the darker recesses of Matt’s mind he kind of enjoyed it, actually. The idea of Foggy domming him with someone else. It made Matt feel dirty and perverse, but he was used to that.

But sometimes, on very rare occasions, Foggy would actually date a Sub. Subs who didn’t know how Foggy’s heart would speed up when he was turned on, or how his breath would change when he was getting frustrated, or how he would watch porn about Subs who would plead to be fucked after hours of teasing. They didn’t know how to be a good Sub for Foggy, and Foggy deserved the best Sub.

Which was why, no matter how much it killed him, Matt could never be with Foggy. Because Matt was broken. Matt was a bad Sub. Matt _needed help_. It pissed him off, what Nick said, even if Matt had to sometimes admit to himself that Nick was right. Matt couldn’t be a good Sub, not with a brain like his. And Foggy deserved a good Sub.

So they were just friends. Close friends, which was great. Matt had never had a close friend before. Or a friend who he was secretly-- never mind. Foggy would even encourage Matt to do risky things, like talk to that girl he liked in his Spanish class, or ask his professor for an extension because it was the anniversary of his father’s death and that was not conducive to anything except for Matt refusing to get out of bed. And sometimes, Foggy would convince him to crash a ridiculously high end party in a cheap suit.

In fairness, they hadn't actually done much _at the party_. Mostly they just hung out in the kitchens with Dan, Foggy’s ex’s husband and the person who had let them in, and Bex, a Sub working as a waitress who was really hitting it off with Foggy. Like, really hitting it off. Like, the arousal coming off the two of them was making Matt gag. So, Matt decided to leave the party for the actual party and get a really strong drink.

The woman at the bar smelt amazing. She wore a floral perfume, an expensive one that actually smelled of flowers and not of chemicals imitating flowers, but underneath… It was the smell that was in the air just before the first lightning strike. The smell of a boxing ring during a match. The smell of the dungeons.

She spoke with an accent that Matt couldn’t place, and freely cut him down even when she saw the glasses and cane. And then she took him for a speed-limit breaking joyride in a car that she stole. They didn’t get caught. Instead she drove them to the middle of nowhere, pulled him out of his slacks, slipped a condom on and rode him until he came, which was before she did but she didn’t stop even though the over-stimulation was agony. 

Elektra. He said that name in his sleep. He thought about her every day and night and he genuinely couldn’t think of anything else. He focused in class by thinking of her voice replacing his screen reader’s. He did math by counting the amount of times she made him come with that ridged strap-on she liked. When he was apart from her he ached for her like an addict and every moment he was with her just took him higher. 

Matt loved her. Matt genuinely loved her. He couldn’t think of a life without her. It wasn’t just the lust, and the danger, and the fact that she dunked him in the tar in his mind on purpose and then licked it off of him. It was that when they were lying together she asked him about his life and when he regaled it in the most emotionally stunted way possible she got angry for him. Got angry at his mother for abandoning him. Got angry at Sweeney for murdering his father. At the nuns for hoping submitting for God would be enough to keep his Drops at bay. At Nick for dumping him because he was difficult to care for.

Elektra was angry, so Matt felt like he had the right to be angry too. She took him to Fogwell’s and let him destroy a punching bag with the rage and training he had suppressed. Then they fought, and it was the same electricity that Matt used to feel when Stick was training him. Like he was finally being used for his purpose. They fucked in the ring. It felt like coming home.

\---

“The thing with designer handcuffs is that they are so focused on being nice to look at they don’t bother with being sturdy,” Elektra said, swinging the cat o’ nine tails she had in her hand. Matt could hear the swish of her robe as she walked. “To be fair, they’re meant for delicate little play things who starve themselves so the Doms will call them pretty.”

Elektra climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. She was naked under her robe. Matt could feel her wetness grazing against his thigh. Elektra leaned forward and dragged her tongue against Matt’s straining bicep. Unlike the cuffs that she was complaining about, these were built to lock down an army.

“I prefer my Subs with a little more mettle,” she said, slowly dragging herself over Matt’s cock. The combination of her movements, the condom covering him, and the sweet dig of ribbon into the skin of his length made him moan behind his gag. Elektra brought the cat ‘o nine down on Matt’s side, and he jumped. 

“I want people to look at my Sub,” Elektra continued, flicking the tails onto Matt’s skin at imprecise intervals, creating small spikes of pain in between the pleasure. “And see how powerful he is. I want them to know that my Sub is a warrior who could destroy them, but lets me control him with my leash.”

Matt grunted, the whip strikes increasing in speed. He rolled his hips, and she slapped him. 

“I want people to look at my Sub and know that this magnificent creature mewls for me,” she moved her hips slowly. “That he debases himself for me. That he comes home dripping in blood and lets me turn him into my whore.”

Elektra bent down so that her lips were hovering over his, the satin of her robe caressing his chest. With perfectly manicured fingers she reached up and unclasped his gag, pulling the bit from between his lips.

“What are you, Matthew?” She asked, running her finger down his face.

“Your whore,” Matt replied, his voice deep and broken because of how dry his mouth was. Saliva dripped from his chin. 

“My whore,” Elektra agreed. “My toy. My dog, who will tear the throat out of any man so long as I command it.”

“Yes,” Matt gasped. He could feel his orgasm growing in his belly. “Yes.”

“Such a brilliant man,” Elektra said. “Such a proud man. And still, you bend over and beg me to stick my plastic dick inside your ass.”

Matt cried out, his toes curling as the pleasure fizzed inside of him.

“Go on,” Elektra dug her nails into the skin of the shoulder. He could feel the moment his skin broke under her. “Beg.”

“Elektra,” Matt pleaded. “Please.”

Elektra dug her nails in deeper. “Beg properly.”

“Mistress,” Matt gasped. She chuckled, a deep and low sound that was the most erotic thing Matt had ever heard. “Please, stick your plastic dick inside of my ass.”

Elektra climbed off of him, leaving Matt panting on the bed and humping the air with his bound cock. He felt pathetic, but also powerful, like an attack dog ordered to kneel. He heard Elektra’s soft footsteps on the plush carpet, and smelled the lube she preferred even though it cost more than the rent at Matt’s summer apartment. Then the fall of satin hitting the carpet. Matt heard the slide of leather as she pulled the harness up her legs, the noises he would now always associate with her strapon. 

Elektra sighed and walked back to the bed. Matt could sense the wetness between her thighs, the confidence in her stride in spite of the toy between her legs. Blasphemous though it may be, Matt knew in that moment that she was descended from the goddesses of old. 

“I know it’s difficult for you to get leverage like that,” Elektra said. She wrapped her hands around Matt’s knees and began to push his legs back. “But be a good boy for me.”

Matt did what he could to help her, until his toes hit the headboard behind him. The stretch felt like he had fought for hours, a delicious and familiar feeling compounded by Matt’s hole uncurling as it was put on display. Elektra pulled on his cuffs, using the attached set for his ankles to hold his legs in place.

“Good boy,” Elektra said, taking a moment to admire Matt’s pose. He strained in his bonds for her, working his muscles, baring his throat, and opening his hole. She chuckled, slapped his ass cheek, and thrust her strapon home.

Matt yelled, his body still unaccustomed to the feeling of being fucked without prep. The dildo was well lubed, but his hole was drying. It spasmed around the intruder, fighting against her punishing pace and refusing to submit. She loved it when his body refused to submit. 

“Oh, Matthew,” Elektra moaned. “When we’re married, I’ll fuck you every day. I’ll bring you along to my board meetings and make you scream while those rich assholes wank themselves off.”

“Whatever you want,” Matt replied. “I’m yours to do with whatever you want.”

Elektra reached down and flipped a switch on the strapon, turning on vibrations that made them both cry out. She directed her thrusts so they hit his prostate, the vibrations causing him to fall apart. When he thought he couldn’t hold off his orgasm, she kissed him, biting down on his bottom lip. Matt came, but Elektra didn’t stop. His legs began to spasm.

“You want this.” Elektra began to speed up her thrusts. “You want me inside of you. Above you. Controlling you. Because I’m the only one who understands.”

“The only one who knows me,” Matt said between grunts.

“I’m the only one who will ever know--” Elektra cried out. “--The only one who will ever know that your submission is your strength. That you let yourself get whipped because it’s the only way to sate your blood lust.” 

“With you,” Matt rocked his hips, matching her thrusts as he felt a second orgasm building. “With you I submit because I’m dangerous.”

“I will never let you be weak,” Elektra promised. She kissed Matt again. “No one will ever hurt us.”

“We will rip their throats out with our teeth.” Matt bit her lip while she bit his, both of them pressing with their teeth until they drew blood. Elektra shrieked into the kiss, her orgasm shooting through her. She reached down and grabbed Matt’s cock, pulling the ribbon open and stroking him furiously until his cock spurted with his second, proper orgasm.

Elektra turned the switch off and they both sighed as the vibrations eased. She reached up and unclasped his ankles, bringing them down slowly so she was sitting between them. Then she released the handcuffs from the headboard, tightening them together instead so Matt’s wrists were bound. Finally, she removed the strapon and rolled over so she was lying on top of Matt. He pulled his bound wrists over her head so he was embracing her, his clasped hands resting on her breasts.

“I will make everyone who has ever hurt you pay,” Elektra said, running her hands along Matt’s scars. “I’ll cut off the balls of the man who didn’t know how to take care of you. I’ll curse the god who allowed your suffering. I’ll even make Rand industries go bankrupt.”

Matt chuckled.

“Just promise you will always love me.” Elektra had a way of sounding like a child sometimes, scared and alone. Matt pulled her closer to him.

“I will always love you,” Matt swore. “And I will never let anyone hurt you.”

\---

Their reckless abandonment grew in reckless abandon. Their crimes grew from the occasional joyride and breaking and entering to outright theft. They broke into the houses of the outrageously wealthy and drank their wine, ate their food, and fucked on their kitchen tables. Or, in one case, their piano. There was a part of him that felt sick when he did it, but he couldn’t betray someone who was dead, and God abandoned him first. It made him feel alive, and made him realize that he had been cutting off pieces of himself to survive and now was just a mass of blood and gore. No wonder everyone left him. 

Elektra would never leave him.

Foggy was getting concerned, though. He would be worried and nervous every time Matt came home, either at two in the morning or four in the afternoon. 

“Hey, eat something, you need it,” Foggy would say. And Matt would leave the sandwich Foggy handed to him untouched on his bedside table. 

“Matt, you need to go to class,” Foggy would say. Matt would make a point of walking in the opposite direction to their lecture hall. To where Elektra was waiting. 

“Matt, you’re worrying me. Talk to me,” Foggy would say. Matt would say nothing.

Foggy was a good friend. He deserved better. And at least this way Matt wouldn’t have to feel guilty all the time. Even if some nights he wanted nothing more than to crawl back to his dorm room, strip, and present on the floor so Foggy could give him the punishment he rightfully deserved.

\---

Matt had to borrow money from someone to make the call. He didn’t even know that payphones still existed, and wasn’t sure he put in the right number. There were a lot of variables, and heightened senses meant nothing when the world around you had been peeled away. He waited for Foggy to pick up, her final order reverberating through his skull.

_“Kill him!”_

He nearly had. Oh God, he nearly had. He’d wanted to. Matt had nearly taken the knife from her and split Sweeney’s neck apart. They would have had sex in his blood. And that flash of desire had scared him more than anything, finally letting him see the beast inside of him for what it was. And the lamb won. 

_“--Hello? Look, whoever is pranking people at four in the fu--”_

“Foggy?” Matt asked. His voice cracked.

 _“Matt? Matt, what’s wrong?”_ Foggy’s drowsiness seemed to be gone the moment Matt spoke.

“It’s all… fuck it’s such a mess, this is such a mess…”

 _“Where are you? Come on, buddy, focus_.”

“I don’t know.” He tried to remember. “Somewhere upstate.”

 _“Upstate’s pretty big, Matt.”_ Was that a sigh? Foggy was disappointed. Matt couldn’t tell him where he was and now Matt had disappointed him. _“Hey, come on, breath Matt, breath. Deep breath in, come on. Where’s Elektra, Matt?”_

“Gone. Not…” Matt was trembling. “Not coming back. Foggy, I don’t feel so good.”

 _“Is there anyone around, Matt?”_ There was rustling in the background of Foggy’s call. Was he with someone? Had Matt taken him away from someone?

“Someone across the street,” Matt replied. “I think they’re waiting for the bus. I would get the bus but I don’t have any money.”

_“Matt, I need you to go over there and ask them where you are. I need you to tell them you’re blind and your friend is coming to pick you up, but you don’t know where you are. Can you do that?”_

Matt was whining. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to have to actually tell someone he was blind, that he was useless, that he couldn’t do something so simple as tell his Dom where he was.

_“I know you don’t want to, Matt, but I need to come take care of you. I need you to do this for me so I can keep you safe. Okay?”_

Matt pressed his head against the phone. It was cold. He should have brought a jacket. He should have brought his cane. He wanted Foggy. “Help me.”

_“I know, buddy. I’m coming to help. But I need you to do this for me first. Can you do it?”_

Matt made a small noise in affirmation.

_“Matt, I need words.”_

“Yeah,” Matt said. He gripped the phone tight in one hand and wiped his eyes with the other. “I can do that.”

\---

Matt had ruined his life. His grades for the year were beyond saving. The club wouldn’t let him in, so he had gone to one that Nick would have had a heart attack to see him at (good, Matt thought), but even they couldn’t whip out his guilt for disobeying Elektra. And everywhere he went, Roscoe Sweeney was on the news. The year was ending and he needed to focus on catching up but all he could do was bathe in self loathing.

“Matt, you need to eat.”

Foggy had been so good. He had come and gotten Matt, and held him while he cried through the night. He had given Matt salve for his wounds, and hadn’t judged him for getting himself tortured just to get some peace. Matt loved--

“I don’t want to,” Matt grumbled. He had buried his head beneath his comforter. It was childish. Warriors didn’t cower. 

“I know, buddy.” Foggy sat down on the edge of Matt’s bed, pulling the comforter down so that he could see Matt’s face. He was holding something sweet smelling in his hand. Matt could smell fruit. “But you need to. Just one piece of toast, okay?”

Matt slowly stretched his tongue out, a small part of him hoping that Foggy would see how long it was. Foggy broke off a piece of toast and placed it on Matt’s tongue. Matt chewed slowly, the sweet jam rich on his underused taste buds. After a while, Matt swallowed and obediently stuck his tongue out for another piece.

The next day it was two pieces of toast and a shower. Matt stayed under the spray until it had gone cold, and when he came out Foggy hissed and began rubbing him furiously, complaining that Matt had turned blue. 

Then it was two pieces of toast for lunch, and some microwaved soup for dinner. 

Two pieces of toast when he woke up, a sandwich for lunch, and some microwaved soup for dinner.

Toast, sandwich, email to one of his professors, soup.

Toast, sandwich, another email, soup, shower.

Toast, sandwich and some fruit, three emails, noodles.

Toast, walk, shower, sandwich with fruit and quarter of a muffin, study, meat and potatoes.

“There you go, Matt,” Foggy said when Matt opted for muesli and yogurt in the morning. “Soon you’ll feel like your old self again.”

It was then that Matt realized he didn’t want to be his old self again. Matt Murdock was a failure. Matt Murdock was weak. Matt Murdock was painfully, agonizingly, in love with his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter this week because the next chapter is going to be late. It's also running a bit short, so if anyone has something they would like to see shout it out in the comments.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rises like Mushu* I live! Sorry folks, this delay was a lot longer than I anticipated. This chapter would just not behave. As a payment, enjoy a lot of Matt/Foggy goodness
> 
> Chapter Tags: The College Face-Touching Incident, Matt's Eternal Battle With Self-Loathing, and Coming Out

He didn’t remember the end of his first year very well. It flew by in frantic studying broken up only by exams. By the end of it, Matt barely knew anything except for the notes he had scrounged from various classmates that Foggy had, being the miracle he was, read to him. He hadn’t even realised that his pre-law exam was the end of it until he got back to his dorm and realised there was nothing left to study. 

“I really don’t know why you’re taking more classes.” Foggy said, in a tone of voice that suggested he had been meaning to ask it for a while. They were lying on their floor, drinking cheap beer while Foggy made a game of literally throwing things into his suitcase.

“I need to make up for this year.” Matt replied. 

“Matt, you flew through.” Foggy sighed. “Not that what I say makes a difference. I don’t want you to lock yourself up in here and study yourself to burn out.”

“I’m not going to burn out,” Matt said, even though there was a part of him that felt like he already had. Foggy scoffed, which meant he probably knew that Matt was full of shit too. “I’ll take care of myself, I promise.”

“Matt, believe me when I say that I mean this in the nicest way possible. This entirely comes out of my undying love and affection for you, okay?” Foggy leaned over until he was hovering over Matt’s face. If Foggy relaxed and put his weight on Matt, it would be the perfect pinning position. Foggy put his hand on Matt’s chest. “You are the worst at taking care of yourself. The _worst._ I’m half tempted to get a cat who can human-sit you.”

Matt laughed. The idea on its own was amusing, even if it did make Matt want to reach up and do whatever he could to beg but not actually ask Foggy to stay with him. He couldn’t do it, not when Foggy had been practically vibrating with excitement at the thought of getting to hug his parents and catch up on the big brothering that he had been unable to force on his siblings. Foggy had a family to be with. Matt had… Matt had studying to do. 

“I promise that the moment I find a cat who can dial a phone in order to give you frequent ‘me’ updates, I will cede full responsibility to them,” Matt said instead. If Foggy lifted his leg, he could straddle Matt’s hips. Or sit on Matt’s chest and let Matt suck his cock while he packed. Matt tried to convince himself that he was just horny, even though his libido had been entirely Foggy related (as he had found a week ago at Marci’s party, when Jennifer Braun had smacked his ass after a night of charged flirting and all Matt could think of was how Foggy would react).

“Right after we help that cat escape from governmental officials who want to spy on him, of course.”

“Of course.” Matt couldn’t tell if Foggy was smiling or not.

Foggy sighed, and tipped his head forward so their foreheads were touching. “I wish you could come with me. I swear, next summer we’re going to rent ourselves a crappy two bedroom that we will pay for by working as pool boys for bored housewives.”

“I don’t think there are that many pools in New York, Foggy.” Matt could feel Foggy’s breath on his cheeks.

“Ok, we’ll put on maids outfits and clean their penthouses.” Foggy wasn’t as giggly. Instead he was almost breathy, like he was-- like he was…

“Are you smiling?” Matt asked. Foggy pulled away.

“Huh? Uh, yeah. A bit. Not much of a smile, but it’s there.”

“I can’t tell,” Matt said. “I can tell if you’re happy, or if you’re trying to be, but I can’t tell if you’re smiling.”

Foggy gulped from a couple of inches to Matt’s left. “You wanna try touching my face?”

“...What?”

“You know,” Foggy shuffled a bit. “The thing blind people do where they touch people’s faces to try and get an idea of what they look like.”

“That doesn’t actually work,” Matt said. “I used to do it with my Dad, but that was more of a grounding thing, than a… plus I knew what he looked like.”

“Yeah, that probably helps.”

“It does.” Matt raised his left hand. “It’s actually better if you… if you describe yourself to me.”

“Well, I’m six foot four,” Foggy began, and Matt laughed. Foggy sat up a little, and brought Matt’s hand to his cheek. “With Paul Newman’s eyes and Cary Grant’s hair…”

Matt touched Foggy’s skin as if it were a painting. He could feel the ridges from Foggy’s latest break out, the dip of his temple, the soft skin of his cheeks. 

“Your beard is scratchy,” Matt murmured. 

Foggy laughed.

“Yeah, it’s kind of killing my game. I might shave it, actually. I can’t be bothered to maintain it, so it’s less ‘cool hipster’ and more ‘man returning from deserted island.’” 

Foggy had soft and rather plump lips. The honey scented lip balm he used must have been working. They weren’t as wide as Matt’s. Foggy’s lips parted as Matt traced them, and worried about what he might do with that, Matt darted his fingers up to Foggy’s nose and nearly stuck his finger up Foggy’s nostril. 

“Yeah, I’m not that much of a looker, but no need to stab me for it,” Foggy said, rubbing his nose. 

“I like your face,” Matt blurted out, blaming the stress and not sleeping and not eating and beer drinking for his brain to mouth filter functioning incorrectly. “It suits you. It’s like… it moves every time you think something. Like, you’re a little embarrassed, so you’re feeling hot. And going a bit red, too, I imagine.”

“Man, you can feel that I’m blushing like a tomato?”

“Yeah, but you’re-- you’re smiling. I can feel you smile.” Matt started smiling on his own. He started tracing faster. “Your lips don’t just move, your eyes move, and your-- hah, your forehead creases a bit. You’re going to have so many laughter lines when you get old.”

Matt pulled his hands away. He turned so that he was facing away from Foggy, away from the temptation to kiss him. Foggy coughed, and mentioned something about getting more beer before getting up. It was too hot for it, but Matt pulled his rug down from his bed and placed it over his lap so that Foggy wouldn’t see how hard he was. 

For the rest of the evening they stayed with at least a couple of inches between them at all times. And in the morning, when Matt went down with Foggy to help him pack his Dad’s car, they said their goodbyes with a quick hug, including a double back tap. 

That night, filled with shame at having ruined things between them but also hard and aching at the memory of how close he and Foggy had been to a kiss, Matt had dragged himself out of bed and to the dungeons that knew just how to punish a pathetic Sub like him.

\---

Matt was only taking two summer classes, both of which were with professors he had already had during the year, so once he got into the groove of things his college workload became a breeze. Gone was the frantic dash to the finish line that had been finals, and the fog that had covered him during his relationship with Elektra had also disappeared. He remembered why he wanted to be there again. With the smaller classes he even got the chance to debate the professor about the philosophy of law, which had given him a thrill he thought had been stolen from him the moment Elektra walked out the door. It had also garnered him praise from said professor that went straight to his groin.

He ignored the loneliness. Foggy called once a week, usually for hours on end. He had been helping his Dad with the family business, and helping his Mom around the house. He went on rants about his younger siblings (that usually ended as doting speeches about how lovely they were). Foggy reconnected with some high school friends. Ran into an ex and made out with him by the dumpster. He was having fun.

Matt told Foggy about his classes. How he was doing better again. Foggy would tease him about getting back into the race for top of the class. Matt espoused the benefits of a mostly silent dorm. And then they would hang up, usually because Foggy was called for dinner or chores or some other form of family time that Matt had no familiarity with. 

And then Matt would be alone. 

Matt was used to being alone. Even when his Dad was alive, he didn’t have many friends. There were kids he would hang out with at recess, and sometimes after school and on weekends, but they were never close. After his accident, they never knew how to include him, so he learned to keep to himself. Stick had actively encouraged Matt distancing himself from his peers, and the nuns didn’t have time to be anything more than cordial towards him. Having a friend, especially one like Foggy, was more unusual for Matt than not. 

He couldn’t figure out why Foggy’s absence ached so deeply. Foggy wasn’t dead, and he hadn’t abandoned Matt, either. But every day Matt woke up in his empty dorm room and felt a distinctly Foggy shaped hole in his chest. Growing and drawing every bit of happiness Matt felt into it, like a black hole slowly consuming his heart. Making him feel untethered.

“I miss you,” Matt blurted out when Foggy was in the middle of talking about the guy who his little sister was totally getting it on with, which was sorta gross but as long as she was happy, even though he had seen her in diapers and the thought of anyone doing that with his wee Candace was wrong and disgusting.

“Oh, buddy,” Foggy said. Sad, but not pitying. “You have no idea. Theo once came in and found me hugging the phone after you had to leave for a lecture. He still thinks you're my boyfriend. We have been cruelly separated by the forces of space, my friend.”

“It’s only one more month,” Matt said. “I’ll be focused on course work anyway.”

“Doesn’t summer school end in two weeks?” Foggy asked. Matt could hear him chewing something.

“Yeah. But it will give me a huge advantage if I do all of my reading before the semester starts.” Matt winced inwardly. He sounded pathetic. Logical, but pathetic. 

“Matt, my beautiful brainy friend, I get that you’ve chosen the ‘Victorian child dying of consumption’ life, but it’s summer. Relaxation is calling you.”

“I’ve never been great at relaxing.” Matt ran his fingers over the ‘f’ key on his keyboard, feeling the bumps beneath his fingers. 

“Oh, I know. At least get a bus to central park one day and lie on the grass.”

“Too loud.” He was tracing the entire left side of his keyboard now. “And smelly.”

“Okay, Murdock, this year I’m going to make it my life’s mission to find some place where you can relax to your heart’s content.”

 _Here, with you_ , Matt thought. 

“Sounds fun,” Matt said.

\---

Ever since his accident, all of the signs at Matt’s church had a section in braille. It was a small thing. In fact, when Matt first learned of it he was angry. Angry that they had presumed he would need the accommodation, angry that he _did_ need the accommodation. The signs had originally felt like a reminder that Matt wasn’t normal anymore. As he got older, though, he understood why his Dad had cried the day they walked in after they had put them up.

Matt had memorised the times for confession young, and always waited until no one else was around before going in. Usually he waited until it was late at night. Father Lantom always believed that a New York parish needed its doors open as long as the city itself was. Maybe that was why he drank so much coffee. Matt knew that Father Lantom was inside of the confessional, but he read the sign anyway. Just to make sure.

It always took time for him to ready himself for confession. Merely stepping inside the enclosed walls helped, but he needed to adjust himself to the confinement. Like a warm up before a fight, or slipping into subspace. Deep breaths, in and out, letting the incense flood his body. Opening himself up to God. 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” Matt said softly yet clearly. “It’s been two weeks since my last confession.”

Father Lantom was silent, aside from his low, steady heartbeat, and his calm breaths. There wasn’t even a movement of cloth.

“I am lusting after a friend who is very dear to me,” Matt’s voice grew weaker. Even in confession, he was ashamed to admit it. “He is a very good man, and he means the world to me. He would be horrified if he knew I was in love with him.”

“Why?” Father Lantom asked. 

“Because there’s something wrong with me!” Matt answered. “I hurt people, and I enjoy it. Maybe even worse, I force people to hurt me. He is a good person!”

“Are you afraid you will hurt him?” Father Lantom’s hand moved, almost like he was clenching a fist.

“I already have.” Matt exhaled. “I have disobeyed his orders, which upset him. I have harmed myself, which has hurt him. And even though he’s my best friend, and I know he would never want me, I want him so much that I…”

“What are you afraid of, Matthew?” Father Lantom asked. 

“That being loved by me will…” Matt rubbed his fingers against one another. “Taint him, somehow.”

“You can’t harm someone simply by loving them.”

“But I want him, even though I know I can’t have him. That’s a sin, right? I’m sinning against him?” Matt dug the edge of one fingernail into the skin of his thumb, just enough for a small flare of pain.

“Thought being sinful is something I have never…” Father Lantom shifted. “Been able to accept, myself. No one is completely without impure thoughts, not even children. It’s our actions that can cause harm, and therefore may be sinful.”

“Careful who you say that to, Father,” Matt muttered. “You might get excommunicated.”

Father Lantom chuckled.

“If a man covets his neighbor’s wife, then he may commit sinful acts. He might seduce her, or hurt her and her husband. Perhaps he will just be petty. But if he simply feels love for her, and shows kindness to her without wanting her love for himself, then I can’t see how he has committed a sin.”

“But I want to act on it,” Matt said. “I want to… I want to kiss him, and be with him.”

“Have you told him this?” Father Lantom asked.

“No.” Matt scoffed. “It would just make him uncomfortable when he rejects me.”

“You seem very certain that he doesn’t feel the same way, considering you haven’t spoken to him about it.”

“I want him to hurt me,” Matt admitted. “He hates hurting people. Thinking of him hurting me, when I know he doesn’t want that… it feels wrong.”

“It is difficult when the desires of a Dominant and Submissive don’t align,” Father Lantom said. “But it is also natural. The question is if, knowing that he may never be able to give you what you want, do you still love him and want to be with him?”

“Yes,” Matt replied.

“Then the question is not if you are hurting him by wanting to be with him. The question is-- are you afraid that if he knows what you want, he will no longer want you?”

_Yes._

\--- 

The knock on the door came one and a half weeks before the new semester started. Matt had been halfway through his textbook on Dynamic based discrimination (something that was gripping, and horrifying, and heartbreaking, and sometimes incredibly uplifting) so he had to detangle himself from his screen reader before he could get the door. His new neighbors had set literal fire to their spaghetti the night before, so he was almost to the door before he smelled him. 

“Matt!” Foggy yelled, barreling into Matt and pulling him into a hug so tight that Matt’s father would be proud. There was some laughter behind them-- a woman, who smelled of lemons and a floral perfume. She stood aside for a man, tallish, smelled of bacon, to pass by carrying suitcases. 

“Goodness, dear,” the woman said. “I thought you were joking!”

“I never joke about Matt,” Foggy replied, still refusing to let Matt go. “I said I was going to hug him for a day, and so I shall.”

“I feel like the logistics of that may get complicated after an hour or so.” Matt’s voice was muffled by Foggy’s arm.

“Shh, we’ll figure that out as we go,” Foggy said. “Sorry for barging in on your space like this, but I realised that I had three classes in buildings I’ve never been to before, so I’m going to need exploring time.”

The man scoffed as he walked past them. 

Matt knew exploring didn’t take that long, not for a sighted person. Maybe Foggy had gotten sick of his family. He had heard of that happening, at least for people who had families. Matt would get sick of the orphanage, so he guessed that counted.

“Oh, let go of him, Franky! I want to be introduced!” 

Foggy’s heart had skipped when she called him Franky. He broke the hug, but still kept his arm tightly around Matt’s shoulders. 

“Matt, my man, this is my mother, Meredith Nelson.”

“How do you do, Ma’am,” Matt said, holding his hand out. She shook it by taking his fingers and squeezing them a few times. 

“Oh please, dear, call me Meredith. You can even call me Merry, if you like!” Meredith pulled her hand back, only to rest it on Matt’s arm. “Oh, Franky, I thought you were exaggerating! What a handsome friend you have!”

“Mom, don’t embarrass him. At least when I do it, it only embarrasses me.” Foggy managed to sound a lot younger when he spoke to her. 

Meredith laughed. It was the same laugh that Foggy had-- loud, all encompassing, happy. Just happy.

“I think that’s all the cases, son,” the man said. He held his hand out. “George Nelson, nice to meet you, kid.”

Foggy must have made a face, because their heartbeats all accelerated. Thankfully, Foggy used his free arm to take Matt’s and direct it towards his father’s outreached hand.

“And you, sir.” Matt gestured to Foggy’s side of the room, where he knew the bed wasn’t but was a good enough estimation for someone who supposedly had no idea where it was. The Nelson parents sat down on Foggy’s bed, while Matt and Foggy sat, still in their half hug, on Matt’s bed.

“Foggy tells me you’re Jack Murdock’s boy,” George said. “Great man, your father was. Won me fifty bucks once. Of course, this was back in the days when that was real money. Hell of a boxer.”

“He did lose more than he won, sir.”

“Boxing’s about a hell of a lot more than who comes out on top. Not that that hurts when the prize money’s coming in, huh?” George laughed. He sounded like he was a smoker when he was young. “And please, I don’t even like that sir talk from my wife.”

“As if you’d get it,” Meredith said, laughing while she did.

“Please don’t start flirting on my bed,” Foggy said. His parents laughed. They were a loud family. Matt wasn’t used to loud families. Loud, _happy_ families.

“You’re right,” Meredith said. “Matt, would you like to know the embarrassing childhood stories or the cute ones first?”

Foggy groaned and collapsed onto Matt’s bed. 

\---

Mr and Mrs Nelson left late, and only after insisting they take both Foggy and Matt out for dinner. Matt was too nervous to order more than an entree. Foggy must have noticed, because he ordered a ludicrously large meal and then spent the dinner subtly piling more of it onto Matt’s plate. Matt’s discomfort at other people paying for him eased when Foggy was all but ordering Matt to eat, and deciding his food for him.

Their dorm room was quieter with only two people instead of four, but it felt relaxing. A part of Matt had feared that when Foggy did return, he and Matt would have to readjust to living together. Instead, it felt like Foggy had never left, except Matt now had something to compare it to and be extra grateful for Foggy’s presence.

“Sorry for barging in on you, man,” Foggy said. His parents had ‘helped’ (also known as forced) him to unpack. Matt knew that if they hadn’t, Foggy would have just shoved his suitcases against a wall and unpacked on a ‘whatever is necessary’ basis. As it was, Foggy just shoved one box against his wall before sprawling out on the bed with his laptop.

“It’s your place too,” Matt replied. “Besides, it’s not like I was using it.”

“Aw shucks,” Foggy sighed. “I had all these images in my head of you having a slew of girls in here, showing them all the time of their lives.”

“No.” Matt laughed. “I haven’t even had a study partner up here, male or female.”

“Wait,” Foggy’s breath became abruptly shallow. “Male? You like guys?”

“I--” Matt’s mind was racing. Would this change things? He knew Foggy dated men, so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable that Matt did as well. But would Foggy still treat him the same way? Was Foggy only so physically affectionate because he thought Matt wasn’t attracted to him? “I have no preference, just a, uh, hm.”

“Wow,” Foggy breathed. “I guess I just assumed, you know? Because of the Catholic thing. And I’ve only seen you with you know who, so…”

“That time when I got dumped last year--” Matt could feel the tenseness of his muscles being frozen in place. “-- that was a guy. He was a Dom at a club, so we weren’t _together_ , but we saw each other pretty regularly and weren’t seeing anyone else so I guess we were.”

“I forgot about that.” There was a sound as Foggy’s head fell back onto his pillow. “So she who must not be named was your first big relationship, and this guy was--?”

“My first,” Matt said. 

“Damn, Matt.” Foggy sighed deeply. “You really didn’t have a good year last year, did you? Two big break ups in ten months. And one of them was a _guy_.”

“You really didn’t know?” Matt asked.

“No! I mean you never mentioned this guy, or any other guy--”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it from you!” Matt stammered.

“I know! I’m not mad or anything. Feel a bit stupid, though. You just never really talk about this stuff, so I just assumed, but you know what they say about assuming.” There was a rustle of Foggy’s bed sheets. “I have failed you as a wingman, my friend.”

Matt laughed.

“All those times I didn’t send over a guy who was looking your way--” Foggy groaned. “I was a fool, and I put a damper on your dating life. This year I’ll make sure that my wingman-ship is equal opportunity!”

“Foggy,” Matt giggled. “I don’t need a wingman. I need a break from dating for a while.”

“Well, I guess that’s reasonable.” Foggy sat up. “Hey, that guy. Did he treat you alright? Aside from breaking up with you because he’s got no taste, obviously.”

Matt paused. “He was… yeah, he treated me well. I was the problem.”

“You’re not a problem,” Foggy said firmly. “If you mean you did something wrong, then that was the problem. Not you.”

“Thanks,” Matt said. It hurt to hear Foggy say something that Matt wanted to hear so badly, knowing how much Foggy’s opinion would change if he ever stumbled upon the real Matt Murdock.

“Ah crap,” Foggy said after a period of comfortable silence. “My only argument against people saying we’re a couple is that you didn’t like guys. Now my mother will never believe me.”

“We have no choice. We’re dating now,” Matt replied. He tried to convince himself that he was joking.

They both laughed, and Matt could hear their racing heartbeats thundering for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can someone just make these two kiss already?! Oh, wait, that's my job.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **Rape/Non-Con, Safeword Use, Ignored Safeword, Rape Aftermath, Internalized Victim Blaming** , Mummification, Sensory Deprivation, Disassociation, Grief, Non-sexual Submission, Subdrop.
> 
> If the Rape warnings worry you, please skip from "'Only took you three days to come back'" to "No matter how much Matt pedaled...". Fuller explanation of the warnings are in the end notes. If the Grief tag worries you, please skip from "No matter how much Matt pedaled..." to "It wasn't until morning..."
> 
> This is a dark chapter, and if you are not in the place to read it right now then make sure to take care of yourself first.

Their second year was going well. The work was harder, but Matt knew more, and so he was flying through. Foggy had comfortably decided on his degree-- a DyPsych and Pre-law double major-- and once he started to really throw himself into his work was also doing well (even if it was not as well as he could be. Matt never understood why Foggy was happy not being the best he could absolutely be. Apparently he thought mental health was more important than some letters on a page and a few words in latin).

Foggy and Matt were developing a reputation as ‘those friends’, based on what Matt heard. People had started making jokes about them being married at the end of their first year, but by Christmas Matt had found himself being genuinely referred to as ‘Foggy’s wife’. He pretended it didn’t bother him. That he didn’t like it.

Foggy had come to him before the Christmas holidays, his hat in his hand, and asked quietly if Matt would like to come over for Christmas dinner. Apparently Foggy had a spare mattress in his room. Matt had originally taken Foggy’s rapid heartbeat, constant shifting, and light perspiration as a sign that Foggy was only asking Matt out of obligation. At least until Foggy said “please” in a small and soft voice. A nervous voice.

Christmas at the Nelsons was very different to the Christmases he was familiar with. There was no Grandmother to drag Matt and his Dad to church in the early hours of the morning and feed them dry meat and potatoes, before hopefully sitting in silence until it was an acceptable time for Jack and Matt to leave. There were no Christmas Eve boxing matches that ended with Jack getting knocked out, so they had to spend Christmas Day in the ER while Jack apologized profusely. He wasn’t trapped with a group of orphans all trying very hard not to think of the families they no longer or never had. 

Instead, Christmas was a chaotic affair filled with smells, sounds, and tastes that Matt had little familiarity with. The meal seemed like more food than Matt had eaten in his life, and somehow during it he ended up with a paper crown on his head. They even passed around gifts, none of which were donated (Matt gave the Nelsons a set of novelty mugs with frogs in various poses as handles-- Foggy had seen it in a shop and been unable to stop laughing. The Nelsons gave Matt a sweater, that Foggy said was cream and very tasteful, but was soft and that was all that mattered. Matt got Foggy a bow tie and cufflink set carved from wood. Foggy got Matt an audiobook biography on Thurgood Marshall). 

They had all gathered in the living room afterwards to watch old movies, and none of them complained that Foggy would narrate everything on screen. There was even a small squabble over whether or not Foggy was accurately describing the majesty of a villainous character’s mustache.

Life was good. Matt was making his father proud. He had a friend who he loved dearly, and who treated him like family. He had acquaintances who were happy to be around him. Matt had everything. Nothing was wrong. 

So why did Matt feel like he was drowning?

\---

“Only took you three days to come back, slut,” Master Aaron said, wrapping his arms around Matt’s waist. His grip was tight. It set off Matt’s instincts as if it were a siren in his mind. He rubbed his ass against Master Aaron’s crotch anyway. 

Master Aaron chuckled. His breath smelled of smoke. He sank his teeth into Matt’s collarbone, bare because the loose t-shirt he was wearing had slipped and was showing the top of Matt’s chest. Matt groaned. He could feel that they were being watched, heard heartbeats race as Matt humped the air. Last time he was in this club he got fucked on the couch in front of a room of people, all getting off while they watched him being brought to the edge over and over again but never allowed to go over it. 

“Our horny boy is never satisfied, is he,” Mistress Adelaide said, running her fingernails down Matt’s arm. He had burn scars because of her. She pulled him into a kiss, her lips tasting like wine and blood. If she got him especially high, he would call her Elektra. Then she would threaten to castrate him, and Matt could hear her heartbeat. He knew she wasn’t lying.

Mistress Adelaide tore at Matt’s jeans, pulling open his fly and tossing his belt to Master Aaron. She pulled Matt’s jeans and boxers down in one motion. Master Aaron wrapped Matt’s belt around his neck and tugged it one notch too tight. Matt gasped for air, but that just made it easier for Master Jim to shove a ball gag between his teeth. 

Master Jim grabbed Matt’s arms and wrenched them above his head. They were too high, pulling at the muscles in his arm. _One of the hardest positions to get out of_ , the Stick in Matt’s head snarked. _And you’ve done it willingly._ There was a clicking sound, and Matt was pulled higher, and higher, until his feet were no longer touching the ground. They were laughing as he swung in his chains.

“You’re so easily distracted,” Master Aaron said. Mistress Adelaide wrapped her lips around the tip of Matt’s cock and sucked. Matt flailed in his bonds. “We want you to focus on _sensation_.”

They were wrapping something around him. Plastic, he thought. Over each leg, making sure to cover even his toes, then over his hips (but making sure to leave his cock and hole available), then up Matt’s heaving abdomen. The wrap was too tight for Matt to move even if he wasn’t in chains. It rose up his chest like he was being buried alive, constricting his breathing more than the belt. He tried to slow his breathing but he couldn’t. He was-- panicking. He was panicking. 

All of Matt’s body was covered in plastic. He was pleading behind his gag, but it was unintelligible even to him. More people had entered the room. It wasn’t turning him on this time, just making the panic worse. He felt like meat hanging from a butcher’s hook while people bid on which cut of him they were going to devour.

“This is going to be ecstasy,” Master Aaron whispered in his ear, before Matt was suddenly engulfed in darkness. There was nothing. No sounds, no taste, no smells. All Matt knew was his own heart beat, his lungs failing to inflate, his shrieks of fear. The world was gone. The world was _gone_. 

Something was being shoved through the hood, burrowing into his nostrils. Straws, for air. They smelled of a medical grade disinfectant, and the hand soap the person who last touched them used, and the hand cream the person who washed them had accidentally transferred onto them. Deeper, Matt could smell the sharp tinge of plastic, not quite rubber but close to it. 

Matt was falling through nothingness. He was not a body, not even a self, just a consciousness that was scattered into a thousand jigsaw pieces. This was death. The overwhelming totality of non-existence. The plastic wasn’t enough to keep him present, but there was a part of him that knew that it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

A cock thrust into him. He felt his rectum open for it, felt each pulse of blood inside of it. It was wrapped in a condom, just more plastic to drive splinter Matt further apart. It fucked him roughly, and he felt the warmth of semen inside of it, and then it was gone. Another one took its place. More rubber sank down on Matt’s own cock. 

_Red,_ Matt said behind the gag. _Red_ , Matt screamed. _Foggy_ , Matt prayed. 

The cocks were replaced by other cocks, real and synthetic ones. The fleshlight was replaced by lips, and sometimes pussies and holes. He didn’t want to come but what he wanted didn’t matter. Coming hurt, but it only hurt the body. _What controls the body when the mind isn’t there anymore?_

Matt stopped fighting, eventually. Started laughing for a bit instead, but stopped doing that after a while too. Just hung there for most of it. Faded further and further away. He found that he liked the sound of his blood flowing through his veins. The thump of his heart sounded like the waves he heard on those relaxation tapes Sister Beatrice had given him for his fourteenth birthday. He was sweating in the plastic, which made it stick tighter to him. He could feel the places where the plastic overlapped with each other. They were scratchy. 

_‘Matthew’_ , a voice said with the sound of all voices. He could hear Stick, and his father, and Nick, and Elektra, and Foggy, and everyone he had ever known, all wrapped inside that voice. His own voice was the loudest. _‘I’m inside of you, Matthew. Doesn’t it feel good?’_

The hood was ripped off him, and the world came back with ferocious intensity. The bridge between nothing and everything was too much of a divide, and instead of drifting apart from his body Matt was now cowering within it while the flood bore down on him. It reminded Matt of being baptized, even though he had no memories of being baptized. Or maybe this was what it felt like when he was born. He had no memories of that either. 

He was naked, in the arms of a stranger in a room of more strangers. Shouldn’t he have been covered in blood? Yes, he had been flayed alive. He could have the blood to show for it. He was given water that tasted bad, and small morsels of food that tasted worse. Food was horrible. How did people enjoy it? Foggy loved food-- complex flavors or simple, contrasting textures or everything bathed in grease, rich tastes and lightly buttered bread. Who was Foggy?

Someone volunteered to take him home. He didn’t know who. He didn’t know what home was, or how they got there. It was hard to stand. The door opened and Matt could smell Safety, the new coconut shampoo he was using and the pizza he had been eating as a midnight snack. He thought he said Foggy, but his tongue stumbled over the words. People talked around him, but they were too loud for him to understand. Instead he fell into Foggy’s chest, nuzzling against Foggy’s shoulder. He was so glad Foggy shaved the beard. 

He was lying down now. Was he in bed? He was naked again, and Foggy’s heartbeat was racing. He had come so much, but the thought of Foggy staring at his naked body made him hard again. He loved Foggy. He wanted Foggy inside of him. He wasn’t a person anymore, but maybe Foggy could make him feel whole again. Foggy didn’t believe him, though. Didn’t believe that Matt wanted him. Foggy knew he wasn’t good enough. 

It didn’t stop Matt from grabbing Foggy’s face and kissing him. Foggy tasted like pizza, and honey scented lip balm, and he needed to wash his face-- it had been days. He could smell Foggy’s arousal building with the kiss, and lifted his legs to wrap them around Foggy’s waist. But instead Foggy pulled away, and when Matt tried to fight he held Matt down. It was enough to make Matt come again.

Matt didn’t know if that was the moment he passed out, but he couldn’t remember anything after that. He woke up wrapped tightly in his bed clothes, a cold cup of sweet tea sitting on the table beside his bed. The heat of the sun in his room said it was late afternoon. His muscles burned with each movement, and the mere act of sitting up had him sobbing. Or at least he thought it was the pain. 

With tears still flowing down his cheeks, Matt wrapped his comforter around him and limped to the bathroom he and Foggy shared with the guys next door. He tripped over it multiple times, catching himself on the wall and eventually just letting it slip off entirely. There was copper in the air, but he couldn’t smell where the blood was coming from. 

He all but dragged himself into the shower and turned it as hot as it would go. Matt ignored his chemical free, scentless, non abrasive soap in favour of Foggy’s and began to scour himself with it even though it made his skin feel like he was rubbing himself with stinging nettles. The shower deafened the sound of his sobbing, but he wasn’t strong enough to stay upright. He collapsed, landing in a way that made his ass and ankle scream. 

It was worse than when he thought his sex dreams were the devil’s work. The devil hadn’t just corrupted his soul, it had fucked him and come inside of him with its cock made of hellfire and sin. He wondered if this was how his mother had felt after giving birth to him. 

The water had run cold when Foggy burst into the bathroom. Matt must have been there for hours, curled around himself on the shower floor. It was long enough for the water to make him numb again. Foggy said something, but even with the sound of water bouncing off the floor it was too loud for Matt to understand what he was saying. It hurt to concentrate. Foggy crawled into the shower, his movements distinct with the slap of wet clothing. Foggy reached out to touch him, and Matt let himself be moved until Foggy could hold him.

“Don’t go back,” Foggy whispered, probably thinking that it would be too soft for Matt to hear. “Please, don’t go back.”

Two days later, Matt went back.

\---

No matter how much Matt pedaled, he couldn’t keep his head above water. College was growing exponentially more difficult, and even though he spent almost every waking hour studying he still couldn’t keep on top of everything. The Doms at the club were having more trouble getting Matt to even sink a little, let alone go under. Even Foggy’s presence could only do so much.

The ten year anniversary of his Dad’s death hit Matt like a freight train. He had had the day planned-- go to his grave in the morning, then light a candle for him at the church, before curling up in bed with a large amount of beers and maybe listen to the commentaries from his old matches. He planned it that way every year. He never got around to it.

On the actual day, Matt woke up sobbing into his pillow. The gunshot rang in his ears. He must have been thrashing around because he was tangled in his bed covers. It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that someone was above him, touching him, speaking to him in a soft voice. It took him even longer to realize it was Foggy.

“I’ve got you,” Foggy murmured above him. He had one hand on Matt’s chest and the other on the back of Matt’s head. Matt tried to reply, but he choked on the breath he took to do it and just sobbed harder. 

Foggy didn’t leave Matt’s side all day, even though it was a weekday and they had tort class. Apparently Foggy had someone who could give them their notes. Foggy brought Matt food and read Matt P.G. Woodhouse in a horrific British accent. He even eventually figured out to keep reading through Matt’s sniffles, which throughout the day were constant. 

“I want my Dad,” Matt croaked around 2 in the morning. 

Foggy had forced him into a different pair of pajamas and a walk to the bathroom, and while Matt was gone had changed his sheets, but he also helped Matt back into bed in the same position he woke up in. He had then taken up a spot on the edge of Matt’s bed, somewhere in the bend of Matt’s legs.

“What can I do for you, buddy?” Foggy asked. 

Matt sniffed. Even the Stick in his mind had gone silent. There was just a chasm of nothing, like a starved belly craving for food. Dimly he could hear an echo of the crowd chanting his Dad’s name only an hour before Matt ran his hands over the meat that used to be his father’s face.

Matt reached his hand behind him and took hold of Foggy’s. He didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know where it was. He lifted Foggy’s hand and brought it to his throat. Foggy’s heart beat stuttered.

“Matt, I--”

“Just until I fall asleep,” Matt pleaded. “It doesn’t mean anything, just-- I need to sleep.”

Foggy was going to say no, Matt could tell. He and Matt were friends. Foggy was never going to want more. He deserved a better Sub than broken little Matt. He was going to clear his throat. Then Foggy would pull away, maybe give Matt a pat on the head like he was a _puppy_ , and go back to his own bed. He would probably apologize for it. Matt could learn to live with rejection. Or he could go into a Drop and die in his bed.

But Foggy didn’t pull away. Instead, he lay down behind Matt. Carefully raised his hand and wrapped it around Matt’s throat. Matt tilted his head back so that Foggy could see how well he was submitting to his Master.

It wasn’t until morning (Foggy had left him at some point in the way, but had given Matt a sweater to hold instead. They didn’t talk about it beyond Foggy asking how Matt was doing) when Matt realized what he had made Foggy do. 

Matt had manipulated Foggy, just like Elektra had manipulated him. He had used his pain to force Foggy into choking him. Just like he hadn’t safe worded when he was with Nick. Just like he had denied proper precautions at the club, how he hadn’t safe worded hard enough. Over and over again Matt forced people into hurting him. And now he had manipulated Foggy. He was sure Foggy didn’t actually want it.

But it was hard not to think about Foggy’s hand around Matt’s neck, keeping him on solid ground. He could feel the ghost of that hand every time Foggy got drunk and wrapped his arms around Matt’s waist. He could feel it when Foggy made Matt some lunch with the expectation that Matt would eat it, or when Foggy would tell Matt when it was time they went to sleep.

Foggy also touched Matt a lot, especially in public. Any time someone Foggy had even slightest doubts about came near Matt, Foggy would wrap his arm around Matt’s shoulders or simply clap his hand on Matt’s back. If no one was around, Foggy would adjust Matt’s glasses. 

Simple acts of dominance. Simple acts of possession. All screaming in Matt’s brain that he was claimed. As surely as if Foggy hadn’t just held, but had closed a collar around Matt’s throat.

Which was why it hurt so much when Matt returned to their door one night only to be barreled over by the scent of a stranger’s come in Foggy’s bed. It was illogical, Matt knew. Foggy hadn’t claimed him. Matt certainly hadn’t stopped letting people fuck him, so why should Foggy? 

Matt didn’t cry, or scream. He felt like he was supposed to, but couldn’t summon the energy. He sat down and wrote a paper he had due the next month. He cleaned their dorm room, and then their bathroom. The cleaners, even though they were organic, made him sneeze. He went to sleep without waiting for Foggy to come home.

Matt never smelled the man in Foggy’s bed again, but he was too tired to feel relieved. He divided his life into due dates and preparing for midterms. And then he divided his life into midterms. Matt stopped going out for drinks, or to the clubs. He had to study. He had to prove he was good. But he was so tired.

He wasn’t sure why, but that week Matt couldn’t stop thinking about the moment people who were drowning gave up trying to fight the water. The moment when, no matter how badly they wanted to live, they breathed in. Matt wondered if that acceptance was peaceful. 

Matt stopped trying to swim.

\---

Hands, there were hands on him.

“Matt, can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Foggy?”

 _I’m scared_.

\---

Foggy was here. He was going to help Matt.

\---

A gentle push, and Matt was lying over Foggy’s lap. He needed Foggy to touch him. He needed Foggy to make him submit.

\---

“Here’s what we’re going to do, Sub--”

Foggy sounded scared. His pulse was racing, and his voice shook under the order.

Matt knew what was going on. He wanted to tell Foggy that it was okay, that Matt trusted Foggy to make it all okay. Just as soon as he could speak.

\---

“Foggy?”

“Yeah Matt?”

“Help me.”

 _I love you_.

\---

He was there, but he wasn’t. Like his soul had become untethered from his body. _(Unsteady_ ). Foggy was holding him tightly, and each smack felt like a call to home. A call from the lighthouse while he was drifting in from sea.

Foggy’s fingers sank inside him, and the pleasure of it didn’t matter. Just that Foggy was there, that it was Foggy. 

Matt was safe.

Something in Matt’s chest loosened with the gentle thrusts. His body released. He sank down further into Foggy’s lap, allowing himself to swim in the sensation. The pain was receding, inch by inch. Matt wanted to laugh when he realized he was still alive. 

Foggy saved him.

\---

Matt fell into sleep with Foggy moving the bed covers around him. 

He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape warning: Matt safewords twice during a Scene. No one hears him, and he hasn't been given a non-verbal safeword so no one realizes that he is safewording. He starts to disassociate as a result. While no one refers to this incident as rape, ignoring a safeword and giving a Sub no backup for if they need to get out of a Scene is extremely dangerous and a violation of consent.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it folks
> 
> Chapter Tags: cock-warming, very light bondage, emotions, and at last a Karen cameo! Also contains references to rape, sexual harassment, and canonical child sexual assault

Matt didn’t understand himself anymore. He was laughing often and freely, like he did when he was drunk except he didn’t feel the need to drink anymore. His body ached less, his headaches eased, and old wounds didn’t bother him as often. Stress didn’t claw at him so deeply. One time he even stumbled over his words when talking to one of the partners at Landman and Zach and not only did he not feel the need to be whipped with a barbed chain for it, but also forgot about it simply by kneeling with his head resting on Foggy’s knee.

Apparently, this was what ‘being happy’ felt like.

It was nice.

Matt had been warned against negative thinking by his therapist, because apparently it created biases that resulted in self-destructive behavior and everything going to shit anyway. So he tried not to think it; not to think that Foggy was going to realize Matt wasn’t worth caring for and abandoning him, not to think that Matt was going to ruin Foggy’s life, not to think that his brain and his soul were the same and both of them were tarnished. But as much as he tried not to think it, deep down he knew it-- 

Matt was a Murdock. Murdocks don’t get happy endings.

\---

Working at Landman and Zach was a dream career move. Matt’s resume was the shining example of perfection, from the perfect grades to the perfect internship and the perfect firm. And every morning before work Matt wondered if today was going to be the day he killed someone.

Not in the exaggerated way either. Matt would walk into their office with Foggy and hear the conference rooms being filled with discussions of clients who had stolen from their employees, ruined people’s lives, and even one who may have murdered someone, and know that he could do fuck all about it. Mr Brauer, a partner at the firm, was raping his secretary. Mr Colt and Ms Declan laughed about how they had scared a wrongful death plaintiff into settling. And on the lower scale, the partners would all make disparaging comments about Submissives, and Matt had heard more than one remark about what they would do to his ‘sweet, plump ass’ that would make a Dom in the dungeons feel ill. 

Every time Matt walked into the building, which to Matt smelled of coffee, bleach, and pure evil, he froze at the door. Foggy would tug him in, unknowingly, but if Foggy wasn’t there Matt would just stand at the threshold. He didn’t want to be there. He would let them all whip him bloody if it meant he didn’t have to go in there.

But he had his job, and it was a good job. A job that would get him wherever he wanted in life. As soon as his internship at L&Z was finished, Matt could find a job with the public defender's office and work off the sin he had accumulated by working here first. He just needed to survive that long, and he had to admit he was having difficulty doing it.

So Matt had worked out a band aid solution.

He and Foggy had been given their own office, because they were the only ones willing to share and so had gotten to choose instead of being forced into whatever was most convenient. Foggy was sure that it was a literal cupboard repurposed for interns, and the dim smell of cleaning supplies led Matt to agree. It was small but usually the size was comforting rather than claustrophobic, and Matt didn’t mind the lack of windows, even if it did get stuffy sometimes (Foggy said that Matt was the only view he needed, which was sweet but also garnered him a kick in the shins). 

Matt liked their office. He was very glad to get in there, even if the door didn’t shut with a slam as satisfying as he would have liked. He pulled down his tie, trying to keep it in place even though he was hyperventilating. His eyes were stinging, so he took off his glasses and rubbed at the tears in his eyes.

“Matt, you okay?” Foggy asked, coming in soon after.

Mr Brauer’s secretary had tried to file a sexual harassment suit but no one would take it. She had nearly gotten fired, but she had meekly agreed to let Mr Brauer tie her down on his desk and fuck her ass, as long as he promised not to fire her because she needed the firm’s health insurance to pay for her mother’s medical bills. Matt could still hear her sobbing.

“Lock the door,” Matt growled. Foggy turned the lock with a soft click and Matt pushed him into his chair.

“Matt, talk to me for just a sec--” Matt fell to his knees and pulled at Foggy’s fly, reaching in and tugging out Foggy’s cock even though Foggy was pushing at him. He sank his mouth down on Foggy, feeling the hardness on his tongue and settling on his heels. The tension drained from him.

“Oh, buddy,” Foggy sighed. He reached down and began to stroke Matt’s hair. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Matt shook his head. “Is there anything I can do?” Matt sucked harder. 

Matt heard the creak of Foggy’s chair as he leaned back. He wasn’t relaxed, not the way he usually was when Matt did this, but the thought of letting Foggy’s cock go was too much for Matt. Matt stopped sucking and just let Foggy sit in his mouth while he rested on his knees.

“You mind shuffling under the desk so I can write up these requests?” Foggy asked. Matt wanted to say no, because the requests Foggy was working on were going to get a landlord off scot free even though he hadn’t done maintenance on his building in a literal decade. But Foggy had work to do, and Matt was a good Sub so he let Foggy’s cock slip out of his mouth while he crawled under Foggy’s desk. Foggy moved a little before pushing his chair in with his legs spread so that he could cradle Matt between them. Matt could feel his mind spiralling already, dissolving in the thoughts that they were bad people and as long as they were in this job they were condoning bad things.

Matt gagged his mind by choking on Foggy’s cock.

“Hey!” Foggy exclaimed, pulling back. “No choking, okay? You can hold me in your mouth, but I won’t let you use me to hurt yourself.”

Properly chastised, Matt sank down again, keeping Foggy’s head a whole centimetre away from the opening of his throat and a safe distance from his gag reflex. His brain slowly stopped swimming and relaxed into the quiet peace of Subspace. Matt hummed around his Dom’s cock, floating on his knees, and knew with a calm certainty that he could not stay at this job. They had a deposition for yet another suit where a company failed at basic safety and ruined people’s lives, and Matt knew that he could not live as that guy. He could not have that blood on his hands, not if he wanted his soul to have any rest. His father had hated the monsters who kept Matt’s case wrapped up in legal knots until Jack was dead and Matt was lost to the system. Matt couldn’t bear to have his father hate him. He couldn’t bear to hate himself even more than he already did.

“Matt,” Foggy said sternly. “Matt, you’re not sounding good.”

Matt had started crying, small grunts that were actually the sound of gagged sobs. He pulled back.

“We must dissent from the apathy,” he croaked. “We must dissent from the--”

“Fear,” Foggy finished for him. “I know, man, no need to quote Marshall.” 

Foggy adjusted himself so he was respectable again and put his cupped Matt’s face in his hands.

“What are you trying to say, buddy?” Foggy asked.

“I want to quit,” Matt blurted out. “No, I n-- I n-need to quit. I can’t do this anymore, Fog, I can’t, I can’t--”

“Hey.” Foggy rested Matt’s head in his lap. He stroked his hands over Matt, anchoring him to the world. “If you need to quit, we quit. And don’t think I’m letting you do this alone,” he said over Matt’s protests. “You’re going to stay like this as long as you need, and then I’m going to stuff everything I can carry with free bagels because who knows when we’ll be able to afford food again.”

Matt snorted, burying his face further in Foggy’s lap. His clothes were sticking to his skin and his eyes were wet. His stomach rolled with movement. He had been so comfortable with Foggy that most days he forgot what a mild Drop felt like, even if he was just dipping his toes in the pool he used to swim in. It was hard to believe that this feeling, this awful feeling, was what he had considered normal.

He and Foggy spent their lunch writing their resignations and handed them in at the end of the day. They then spent the next three hours ‘discussing’ their resignations, which were largely promises that could get them to stay. Matt wasn’t sure why they were so important to a company that had its pick of every law school graduate in the state, but he and Foggy held firm even though Matt heard Foggy’s heartbeat pick up when he read his salary offer, which turned thunderous when he heard Matt’s.

“They were going to pay you 10k less than me,” Foggy spat over their Thai takeout. “Don’t know if it’s a blind thing or a Sub thing but either way that shit’s defamation.”

“We should sue,” Matt said quietly. He picked up his forkful of rice, but his appetite had gone from low to non existent and so he put it back down. Matt had expected the haze of Drop to disperse now that he had quit, or at least for him to get preoccupied by the fear of what he and Foggy were going to do next. Instead he just had that feeling like he was climbing stairs that were rotted almost all the way through, and he was about to put his foot down on one that wouldn’t be able to hold his weight. 

\---

Matt’s powers, combined with the pain of New York, had necessitated his ability to sleep through a lot of sounds. It was impossible for him to live otherwise. Which was why it had taken the unsettled sleep brought on by a minor Drop for his conscious mind to understand what his unconscious mind had been hearing for the past month.

It started with that word: “Daddy.”

Always that word.

It had invaded his dreams. He hadn’t realized because almost twenty years on he still dreamt regularly about the night his father died, so that word triggering more of them hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary. He had mistaken it for guilt about his work at Landman and Zach. But when he screamed that word it was in pain, a beg for his father’s return.

“Daddy, I don’t want to.”

This girl wasn’t wanting her father to come back. She wasn’t aching for his touch to make the world go away. She wanted her father to go away. She sounded so young and small, too small to even have presented yet. The grotesque nature of his mind told him that it would be worse if she turned out to be a Dom. Subs were meant to be abused. Matt beat his head until the thoughts went away.

The moment that Matt confirmed what was happening, knew with sick certainty what that monster was doing to the girl, he rang CPS. He ran from Foggy and hid in the bathroom to make the call, gripping the sink while he described as much as it was reasonable for him to know with such strength that he broke the ceramic underneath his hands.

He kept his hearing focused on that apartment, enough that he scared Foggy into thinking that Matt had become catatonic. CPS didn’t come until morning, and when they did they were met with the girl’s mother who was outraged at the implications even though the officer was very careful not to suggest what they were actually there for.

A lady with a nice voice had sat down with the girl, who had shut down when asked any questions about her father. She didn’t even seem that scared, just divorced from the world around her. Matt remembered that feeling. He roared in frustration when they left, making Foggy jump. They were unable to press charges without the girl’s or her mother’s cooperation.

The mother yelled at the girl when she curled up on the couch to watch tv (she was young enough that she was still entertained by Sesame Street. Matt felt sick) and when the father came home she ranted to him about CPS coming to take their child away. 

Matt had sat in the dark while the father twisted the situation to the girl, telling her about how those mean people wanted to ‘take Daddy away from his special girl’. Tears bore their way into his cheeks. The sorrow he had felt from the people of Hell’s Kitchen turned into a blaze inside of him, roaring in his blood like a divine purpose finally making its calling. 

Matt wrapped bandages over his hands and stole one of his and Foggy’s blindfolds to use as a mask. It was nearly enough to make him stop, feeling the black silk beneath his hands. He knew that doing this would make him lose Foggy, if not right away then at some point down the line. It was a certainty-- this action had only one inevitable reaction, and that was Matt losing everything he loved. 

He thought of the girl’s quiet pleading for her Dad to stop touching her because it hurt, and left Foggy heartbroken and alone in their apartment. 

He beat the man’s face until it was bloody meat beneath his hands. The feeling rushing through him gave him more clarity than Subspace ever had.

Inside of him, the beast roared, and its teeth clamped down and broke through the lamb’s spine.

/

Foggy was moving around the kitchen, cleaning away the dishes from the small amount of food he had been able to make for the two of them. He had gone silent after Matt had finished talking, though he made aborted sounds of rage, and frustration, and most of the time almost sobs. Sometimes, he would sound like he was about to say something, but he never did.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Foggy finally asked. Matt could hear the way Foggy’s breath heated the window glass.

“What was I meant to say?” Matt shifted on the couch. The stab wound in his side screamed at the movement. “‘Hi, I’m Matt, I was in an accident as a child which gave me heightened senses and was trained to be a child soldier by a blind old man!”

“Maybe don’t lead with that,” Foggy conceded. “But you had your chance, Matt. You had plenty of chances. And I know abuse victims can find it hard to discuss what happened--”

“I’m not an abuse victim,” Matt snapped.

“Yeah, and no one tried to kill you tonight either! It was a totally consensual stabbing that just got out of hand!” The dam broke and Foggy sniffed as he started to cry.

Matt fought against the urge to keep yelling, to defend himself from the bullshit that he was a victim of anything. Fought against the guilt shooting through him with more pain than the gaping wound in his side could ever manage at having made Foggy cry. His body and mind was wrecked with conflict, compounded by his frustration at being unable to get up and have this conversation properly. His own tears came and he wanted to growl at them until they disappeared.

“You let people rip you apart, and go on to hurt more,” Foggy said through his tears. “You haven’t been under in almost a year and haven’t refilled your medication. That’s not just self destruction. That’s suicide.”

“That’s not--” Matt felt his tongue about to stumble over his words and swallowed it down. “That’s not what this is!”

“Isn’t it?” Foggy sounded defeated. All of the anger he had when Matt woke up was gone. “You were told all you were good for was fighting. Because of that you hate your biology for making you submit, your training for making it impossible for you to live normally in the world, and I bet you hate that you can’t just cave and be a perfect little soldier either.”

“Stop it,” Matt said.

“And you’re too Catholic to just do it yourself,” Foggy continued. “So if you get killed helping people then no one can blame you.”

“...It’s not that,” Matt croaked.

“It’s not?” Foggy asked. He knelt beside Matt, placing his hand on Matt’s knee.

“At least this way I can be useful,” Matt whispered. He clenched the blanket in his hand.

Foggy’s sigh turned into a sob. He pressed his forehead against Matt’s and cupped Matt’s face in his hand. Matt leaned into the touch. They were crying all over each other now.

“You don’t need to be useful, Matt,” Foggy said.

“This city…” Matt gasped for breath. “Needs me in that mask, Foggy.”

“Yeah…” Foggy rubbed his thumb across Matt’s face. “Maybe it does. But I need you.”

Matt’s sobs felt like they were pulling themselves out of his chest. The movement of his chest was agony-- each breath in aggravated the cut in his back, and every breath out hurt his side. His heart felt like it was about to stop any moment. The moment that Foggy left.

“I can’t stop,” Matt admitted. “I need to do this. I need to make sure all the shit I’ve been through is worth something.”

“We can bring Fisk down without you getting hurt.” Foggy got to his feet and walked to their bathroom.

“There are more monsters in this world than Wilson Fisk.” Matt could hear Foggy rummaging around. 

“And we’ll get to that when we come to it.” Foggy came out of the bathroom with a pill bottle clenched tightly in his hand. “Maybe get you some armor or something.”

Foggy walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Matt heard the glug of their water filter and water filling a glass. Foggy turned the filter off and shut the fridge before walking back to Matt and sitting the glass on the table. He pulled open the pill bottle.

“I don’t approve of what you’re doing,” Foggy said, shaking pills into his hand before putting the excess back. “It’s illegal, and immoral, and above all dangerous to your physical and mental everything. But I’m also not stupid enough to think I can stop you.” 

Foggy placed the pills in Matt’s left hand and the glass in Matt’s right. Matt dutifully swallowed and grimaced as he recognized the Survitonin replacements.

“And I love you too much to let you do this alone,” Foggy said, taking the glass from Matt only when it was empty. He groaned as he stood up. “We haven’t eaten all day, so I’ll go get us something. I need to think for a bit. Do I need to tie you down?”

Matt almost smiled, which apparently wasn’t the right reaction.

“I’m not joking, Matt. Do you trust yourself to stay on that couch if I leave you alone for a little while?” Foggy crossed his arms. He never did that.

“...Maybe just one cuff?” Matt asked quietly. 

Foggy nodded. First he helped Matt walk to the bathroom, and then helped Matt back to the couch. He grabbed Matt’s Subspace blanket, which was heavily weighted and the softest thing they owned. With some maneuvering and the world’s most creative use of a spreader bar, Foggy managed to make it so the blanket weighed down on Matt where he needed it while keeping pressure off his injuries. Finally, he cuffed Matt’s wrist and looped the chain around the couch leg, giving Matt room to move but not get up and walk around.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll be back, promise.” Foggy gently kissed Matt’s temple. “If you get worried you can track my shampoo or whatever freaky ass stalker shit you get up to.“

Matt cringed.

“Sorry,” Foggy said. “It’s just going to take me some time to get used to. I’m sure we’ll be using your superpowers for evil, by which I mean pranking Karen, before long.”

“They’re not superpowers,” Matt grumbled. Foggy laughed as he left.

\---

Foggy returned two hours later with a buffet of New York comfort food. Matt was too sore to sit up again and was reluctant to be uncuffed, so Foggy sat down beside him and slowly fed him in small bites. It required eating a hot dog with a knife and fork, which they both considered sacrilege, but it worked.

“I can’t lie to Karen,” Foggy said. Matt picked at a piece of loose fabric on the couch. “She’s our friend and if we want to keep being friends with her then I think she deserves to know.”

Matt sighed and buried his face in the weighted blanket.

“Also,” Foggy continued, “I’m a shit liar.”

“Yeah,” Matt snorted before wincing as pain flared through his side and abdomen. Foggy dropped his food, shushing Matt gently even though he was getting grease over Matt’s face. When the pain died down, Matt sighed again. “I’ll tell her.”

“Really?” Foggy asked. He brushed his hand through Matt’s hair as well as he could, but it had been matted by blood and sweat. A sponge bath could only do so much.

“I swear,” Matt promised. He reached up and ran his hand over Foggy’s wrist. “But… I don’t know how. Or when. I’ve never… I’ve never told anyone before.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out.’ Foggy snorted. “This is going to make her crush on you so much worse.”

“Her what?”

\---

The answer of how to tell Karen turned out to be surprisingly simple. They waited a couple of days for Matt’s pain to be manageable enough to keep him lucid, and then Foggy invited her over (he swore it didn’t come across as an ambush. The discomfort Matt felt oozing off of Karen disagreed). Foggy offered her a drink and by the time he had gotten it, Matt had told her.

“Wow,” Karen said, though it was more just an exhale of air than a word. 

“If it helps, I’m still in shock.” Foggy handed Karen a beer, and she drained half the bottle in one gulp. “Even though when I think about it, it makes--”

“--Total sense?” Karen finished. 

Foggy nodded and began to drink some beer himself. He made a point of handing Matt some water.

“I’m sorry for lying to you,” Matt said quietly.

“We all have our secrets,” Karen replied. “The lectures on us putting ourselves in dangerous situations are extremely hypocritical in hindsight, though.”

“I forgot about those,” Foggy said. He laughed. “Man, I thought those were rich before I knew about your nighttime activities.”

“It wasn’t hypocritical. You are both untrained--”

Foggy and Karen scoffed.

“--Inexperienced, and quite frankly terrible at covering your tracks.”

“As opposed to you?” Karen asked.

“I wear a mask!” Matt replied. 

“And no body armor,” Foggy said. “Which we have to talk about, by the way.”

“Seriously, Matt, get some hockey gear at least.”

“I get by.” Matt placed his empty cup of water on the coffee table.

“You get stabbed,” Foggy muttered. 

Matt shot Foggy a look, and Foggy raised his hands.

“I’m just saying you could invest in some padding. Don’t want you getting gutted again when we take down Fisk.”

Matt turned to face up at Foggy.

“We?” He asked, his face breaking out into a smile.

“It can be a triple pronged attack,” Karen said. “Although we’ll probably have to get Ben on board.”

Matt leaned his head against the couch. “So much for a secret identity.”

“Yeah, but no one’s interested in that ‘hur dur I must do this alone’ crap.” Foggy took a swig of his beer. “Superheroes always work best when they’re in a team.”

“I’m not a superhero.” 

“Yeah we know.” Foggy bent down to kiss the top of Matt’s head. “You’re The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the slightly rushed ending, but it was for the sake of joy. 
> 
> I think I'm going to take a week or two off posting this series, just because I'm having some personal problems which has kept me from writing as much as I'd like. There are still two installments that have been written, but the second one is after quite a large time jump and I'd like to write something to bridge the gap and then finish the series off. So there will definitely be more, I'm just not sure how much more yet.
> 
> I'm also flirting with the idea of getting a tumblr when I'm feeling better to do prompts and the like. Let me know if that's something you'd be interested in!
> 
> Until next time ;p


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